


Oshiguma

by Darth_Darling, ShinLadyAnarki



Series: Aragato [1]
Category: Big Hero 6 (2014), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Acute stress disorder, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Comic Book Science, Comic Book Violence, Crossover, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:59:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5142260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Darling/pseuds/Darth_Darling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinLadyAnarki/pseuds/ShinLadyAnarki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One moment Robert was at the Expo fuming over Alistair Krei, the next he was fighting off Hydra in a blazing building.<br/>Then everything got worse.<br/>Tadashi has been taken, Robert is left wondering why, and now he is one man against a terrorist organization to find and take him back.<br/>And then it promptly it gets worse again. When did his life turn into a Comic Book?</p><p>Or, the one in which Robert gets to be a Hero, and Hiro gets to team up with the Avengers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Weekend Special Edition

**Author's Note:**

> This Series exists within a canon of other stories in a particular order, and though they don't need to be read to read this, it helps to build the basic background and history of Tadashi and Callaghan's relationship:  
> 1\. Notice Me Sensei!  
> 2\. Muscle and Fitness
> 
> Both can be found at Little_Miss_Darling Ao3 page
> 
> Also several One-Shots that can be found on Darth-Darling Tumblr  
> 3\. Battlefield  
> 4\. Kabuki Date  
> 5\. Tadashi bugging Hiro's Clothes  
> 6\. Attempted Break-Up 
> 
> Be sure to check them out!  
> Tags will be updated/adjusted as the Story progresses.
> 
> Also you can check my Tumblr at ShinLadyAnarki

**Tech Week in San Fransokyo**

We all love tech for different reasons -- its design, its utility, its ability to make the gear from science fiction a conceivable reality.

It's what you've all been waiting for! SFIT is the place this weekend! Starting today SFIT students and researchers in the latest technology will be on the Showcase floor and ready to demonstrate what they're working on. An immersive experience designed from the ground up for technology fans and potential students. This event gives tech enthusiasts the unique opportunity to hear from favorite tech innovators and science luminaries on stage, and get their hands on some of the latest and greatest new devices on the show floor.

The San Fransokyo Institute of Technology Showcase is the cutting edge of technology experience. Where students of the world renowned Institute push the boundaries of conventional technology. Fans of gadgets and new technology, and the students that innovate, come together for the love of tech in a fun, immersive, hands-on environment.

Our editorial staff will be roaming the show floor and thrilled to talk tech with the Showcase attendees.

\- San Fransokyo Tribune morning edition

 ******

 

“I look forward to seeing you in class,” Professor Robert Callaghan said warmly, as he presented the acceptance letter to Hiro.

The boy’s eyes lit up in unrestrained joy as he eagerly took the envelope out of the Professors' hand. A broad grin stretching across his face as he looked up at his brother.

“You did it!” Tadashi cheered as he playfully ruffled Hiro's hair.

“I know…” Hiro's voice trailing off in awe, his eyes glued to the envelope. Not quite believing that he succeeded in impressing the Professor.

Tadashi turned away from Hiro, resting his gaze on Robert from over his shoulder. A warm smile graced his face, and he softly mouthed out the words ‘thank you’. Robert smiled back and gave him a soft nod.

“Let’s go show Aunt Cass,” Tadashi suggested as he turned back to face Hiro. “She’s going to be so happy.” 

“Yeah! Aunt Cass!” Hiro called out as he quickly dashed past Robert. Tadashi chuckled softly, sharing a meaningful look with Robert before sprinting off after his brother to join the rest of the group. All whom were milling near the front of the showcase stage.

Robert watched as Tadashi's friends and family crowd around Hiro, their fists pumping the air. Celebratory cheers audible above the din of the crowds. As they headed off towards the front exits, Robert turned away. 

“Mission accomplished,” he laughed to himself. Placing his hand comfortably back in his pants pockets; he felt the warmth of satisfaction for a project well executed spreading within his chest. After hearing Tadashi complain for the millionth time about Hiro’s reckless illegal bot-fighting hobby. The two conspired together on how to get Hiro to quit, they quickly settled on the idea of nudging him in the direction of SFIT. Thankfully, their carefully prepared plan paid off and he didn’t have to worry about whether or not Tadashi would be arrested or injured on their date nights anymore.

As he began to walk away he noticed that there was something on the stage. _What the…?_ Robert’s eyes narrowed in concern as he quickly strode back to the stage to investigate.

 “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered to himself in annoyance. _The transmitter! He just left it there! Why would he do that?!?_ Robert rolled his eyes, and felt a frown pull on his face. He’d have to give Hiro a stern lecture later about NOT leaving his tech laying around where anyone can just take it. Just like Krei had tried to…

Krei.

He felt a growl clawing up his throat just thinking about the man; the muscles in his neck and jaw tightening, eyes narrowing. Abruptly he turned away from the stage, the transmitter now forgotten in his anger. Hands fisting in his pockets, Robert began to stomp away from the stage toward the main presentation areas; hoping he could allay the aggression. However, his thoughts only seemed to incite him further, circling in on themselves.

 _That slimy bastard!_ He had just tried to walk off with one of Hiro’s bots like the good for nothing bloody thief he is. If he had known that Hiro left his transmitter there, he’d probably have tried to take it for himself.

Gods, how he loathed that man!

All he ever does is take for himself, giving nothing back. Never caring who gets hurt. Or killed...

Abigail, poor Abigail… Gone forever, not even a body to bury; and it was all---

He was jolted out of his spiraling thoughts when he realized someone was following him.

The strange man walked parallel to him, a little behind his left. On his 9 o'clock. Wearing brown slacks, but with a gray hoodie obscuring the top half of his face. As Robert continued walking he could see him out if the corner of his eye, matching his movements through the crowd. _Am I being tailed?_ It was deeply unsettling, and definitely not helping with his vicious mood.

He removed his clenched hands from his pockets. Well then, if it was confrontation the man wanted, then that was what he was going to get.

He swiftly moved through the crowd to fall back to a more vacant part of the hall. The crowds were concentrated towards the front center of the Expo where all the presentations' were, so that made the back sides an ideal space to face his stalker. Robert had no idea what this creep could possibly want, but he was going to find out!

Robert sucked in a deep breath as he broke past the edge of the crowd and stepped into the dim far sides of the hall. Exhaling, he spun around to face his pursuer. His eyes briefly widened as he saw that he had not just one man to deal with now, but three.

Each one was dressed in the same terrible slacks and hoddie combo. _Dear lord, that has got to be the worst fashion choice I have ever seen_ , Robert thought in disgust. His sensibilities offended. The only noticeable differences between the three men were general size and shape.

“Of course,” Robert scoffed, jerking his head towards the broad shouldered one on the far right. “You were the distraction, weren’t you?” None of them responded to the question. The tall man in the middle however gave a sky smirk from under his equally covered head, and pulled his hand out of his pants pocket, revealing some kind of device.

Before Robert could even finish contemplating what it was for, the man pressed a button, and an explosion rang out. The crowd began to scream in panic, as smoke began to rapidly rise from somewhere within the presentation zone. Fire alarms began to wail.

“What have you done!” he shouted in shock. The three men shared a grin between themselves.

“Only what was necessary.” the thin man to left answered in a thick accent. “Now come with us quietly and we won’t hurt you.” Robert dismissed the mans implied threat with a snort and rooted his stance into a sturdier one, arms hanging loosely on his sides. The man's grin fades, “So be it.”

The tall man in the middle charged out first, raising a fist toward Roberts face. _How sloppy._ Ducking under the fist, Robert pivoted, placing is back toward his attackers chest. Gabbing the attacking arm with both of his hands, he bent over, pulling his attacker up and over his shoulder. Slamming the man down hard on his back on to marble tiled floor.

Quickly turning from the downed man, Robert observed the remaining two dashing toward his sides in an pincer maneuver. Well, at least this was slightly more challenging.

Robert stepped sideways, dodging a full body tackle by the thin man. As the man fell past him, he twisted around to punch the charging broad shouldered man directly in the face. The man reared back, clutching his bleeding nose; a groan of pain escaping between bloodied fingers. Taking advantage of the man's distraction, Robert gripped him by his shoulder and belt, and spun on his heel. Throwing the bleeding man sideways into the stumbling second. Both crashing onto the floor in a heap.

Pausing, he assessed the downed men. Robert smirked to himself in dark satisfaction; feeling his earlier anger abate. He noted with pride that his judo training is paying off, if only for a moment, as the three men began to stir. Best to even the odds. Robert turned toward the back of the hall, and sprinted away. This was not over, but thankfully Hiro’s carelessness was about to pay off for him.

As he ran back towards where the stage stood, Robert began to feel the blistering heat from the encroaching fire. Whatever they did, its spreading fast. He spared a quick glace over his shoulder, witnessing the fire consuming most of the presentation area. Thick smoke raising high into the lighting fixtures. _Why hasn't the fire suppression system gone off yet?!?_

He then felt a pang of pity for whoever it was that got their project blown up. No student deserved that. He then grimly hoped that said student wasn't involved with whatever it was that was going on.

Rounding the corner of the stage, Robert sagged in relief. Thank God. The transmitter was still where he last saw it. He swiftly grabbed the device, and forced the band onto his head. It was a tight fit, but thankfully he managed to get it on.

The abandoned microbot pile on the stage roused as he commanded them to come towards him. It took a bit of effort to get into the right frame of mind, a brief twinge of pain coming from his temples from the pressure of the band.

After a moment, the multitude responded to the order. Pouring over the edge of the stage, stopping to pool about his legs. Chittering in their movements, Robert was again reminded of ants.

Roberts ruminating was interrupted as more people began to ingress into the stage area. Shifting his attention to the newcomers; Robert narrowed his eyes. The microbots roiling in reflected agitation as his back and shoulders tensed in alarm. They definitely did not look friendly.

About six men covered head to toe in full-bodied tactical suits and gear marched into the stage area from a side maintenance entrance, his original three attackers now joining them. What made the imminent confrontation more worrying were the firearms they held. Not good.

The fire had reached the overhead lighting and fixtures, and was now expanding along the ceiling. As it hungrily devoured the SFIT banners and decorations; small flaming bits of debris began to fall. Thickening smoke began to sting Roberts throat and eyes. Blinking away the irritation in his eyes, Robert soon found himself surrounded, guns trained on his person.

Despite the cloying heat and smoke, he scrutinized the uniforms. His blood ran cold, microbots latching onto his legs in response. Those uniforms, there is no mistaking who they are. They had to be Hydra.

“Shit,” he cursed quietly, slowly backing into the raised edge of the stage. At least, their weapons didn’t actually look to be the lethal type. If he was right, they were advanced stun guns. They are a bitch to get hit with, but he’d survive a hit. Maybe two. It's what came afterwards that concerned him.

This isn't a kill order, he then realized. If it was, they would be carrying something far more deadly, and they probably wouldn’t have gone through all of the trouble to burn a building. It would have been more efficient to have sniped him at home from a line of sight rooftop. No, this was an capture and extraction operation. The microbots undulated around him, rising and falling in time with his breaths; as though waiting for a command. The armed men watched the bots cautiously, and for a long moment nobody did anything.

“What do you want?” Robert demanded, pushing down the instinctual panic that was threatening to claw at his mind. He could feel sweat starting to bead down his face and neck. He needs to evacuate, before it became impossible to breath.

“Just you,” one of the men answered, voice slightly muffed behind a fire mask. “Come with us now, and everything will be much easier for you.”

Predictable, but he still didn’t like it. Robert gritted his teeth against the heat, and with a roll of his shoulders, shot his arms outwards towards the Hydra agents. The microbots barreled out in a wave towards the men, knocking half of them on their backs and sides. Swears in various languages rose from the still standing men that had dodged in time. With a shouted command from the downed leader, the men raised their weapons and began to open fire.

Great.

The microbots seemed to anticipate the incoming threat. Before Robert could formulate the thought that he needed protection, a barrier of bots rose up in front of him, blocking the incoming stun bullets. From behind the wall, he could hear the bullets crackle with discharged electricity as they struck, and then fall to floor useless. He swallowed thickly, the unwanted pull of anxiety beginning to make itself known. His chest tight with held breath.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see one of the hoodie men flanking him, pistol in hand taking aim at his unprotected side. _Oh no you don't!_ Robert reacted, throwing out his free arm toward the immediate threat. The microbots responded in kind, a lower section of the wall breaking off, barreling upwards toward the target. Hitting the agent with a solid _thunk_ to the chest, launching him down the Hall and directly into the burning exhibition area. Robert forgets to notice.

As he shifted his body back into a balanced stance, a stun bullet struck him in the right side of his abdomen, sending roughly 50,000 volts of electricity straight into him.

Robert hit the ground. Hard. All his muscles painfully locking up. His mind blanking out as the electricity disrupted the nerves throughout his body, paralyzing him. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, all he could do was convulse helplessly in a seizure as he waited for it to be over.

He didn’t know how long he was out for, but when he came too, the first thing he noticed was complete darkness. _Where am I?_ Trying to move his head, Robert grunted as a harsh soreness spread throughout his body. Just as bad as he remembered, cringing at the old memory. Best not to do that again.

As his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, he braced his hands on the floor to sit up. Spreading his fingers, he made contact with something cool, and it was moving. Robert paused at the sensation, feeling a lot of little somethings climbing over his hands and now his legs. Distantly, he heard thumps and muffled yelling over the microbots constant chittering as they moved and flowed about. Oh, that makes sense now. The microbots had surrounded him in a cocoon, protecting him from the HYDRA agents that were probably trying to force their way in. That’s probably what those " _thunks_ " are, right? Despite the danger he's in, he couldn’t help but to smile.

“I really need to make sure I get Hiro in my classes,” he fondly muttered to himself. Robert pulled himself up into a sitting position. A twinge of pain in his side making itself known. So that's where I got hit. Robert grunted in irritation as he felt that the bullet had punched through his wool sweater vest and the dress shirt underneath. Damn. In the small, cool enclosed space he eased the stun bullet out of his side with a hiss of pain as the barbed tip snagged on some skin; Robert let it fall from his fingers. The smell of smoke clung to his clothing. Gingerly probing the wound in his side, he slowly started to stand up in his metal bubble, sore muscles loudly protesting at the movement. A familiar calm began to wash over him.

He has to fight. He has to survive.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Assess.

Plan.

Execute.

Concentrating, he carefully directed the microbots to open a small hole in the shell in the general direction of the muffled yelling. His face was greeted by a rush of searing heat, causing him to recoil his head in instinct. Ow. Blinking away the pain, he cautiously looked back out. The fire had engulfed the presentation stage during his time unconscious, the flames licking at the edge of the microbot mass. Robert noticed that he was no longer standing directly next to the stage, but at least several feet off the to the side. Confusion. _What? How? Wait, that's not important now. Where are the HYDRA agents?_

Squinting his eyes against the blazing intensity of the inferno, Robert scanned the area. Microbots moving his viewing window in sync with his head movements. He didn't see anyone. Did they abandon the mission?

Over the roar of the fire he heard a shout. Snapping his head toward the sound his mind froze; terror gripping his heart. Microbots stilling.

Tadashi.

Tadashi was here, back to the side wall, with three of those Hydra fuckers pointing their stun guns at him. His arms raised in a surrender.

One of the men was yelling at Tadashi, gesturing aggressively with his weapon. The other appeared to be listening to orders over their com systems.  Tadashi eyes widened in panic as the man motioned the other to grab him. The microbot shell bristled, it's chittering deafening as Robert snarled in rage. The nearby agents shouted in alarm.

“Leave him alone!” He bellowed, the shell erupting as the microbots roiled upwards onto full attack mode. They barreled forward in large blunt pseudopods, punching and ramming into the agents to keep them away from Tadashi. One protrusion ramming into the man that had grabbed Tadashi by the arm, crushing him into the wall. Robert could feel a headache beginning to come on.

Within a span of seconds all of the men had been knocked to the ground silent and unmoving. Robert finally let out a sigh of relief, his head throbbing at the exertion. Microbots retracting back to him, climbing over themselves up his legs. Cradling his head in his hand he looked up, seeing Tadashi making a mad dash toward him.

Reaching out with his arm, the microbots began to climb over is body and around his arm in response. Extending themselves towards Tadashi. Robert tried to yell over the roar of the fire, “Tadashi! We need to-“

**BOOM!**

Another explosion went off, sending a wave of fire into Tadashi's side obscuring him from Roberts view. Robert felt the microbots on his body pull him back from the wave of heat, some of them curling over his face in protection. He resisted the subconscious reaction to fallback from the blaze, instead commanding the microbots to latch on to his legs.

The building rattled, a heavy groan echoed from the ceiling as larger pieces of flaming debris started crashing onto the floor. Heedless of the explosions' backdraft, Robert dashed forward, riding the microbots to reach where he last saw Tadashi.

“Tadashi!” Robert screamed, his voice going hoarse from the smoke inhalation. He could feel his exposed arms blistering. _No! No! NO! NOT AGAIN!!!_ There was no sign of him within the haze of flames. “TADASHI!” The wreathing smoke and heat was reaching into his lungs, choking him, but he wasn’t the one that mattered anymore.

Microbots gripped his legs taut as he rode them further into the blaze, passing some of the bodies of the Hydra agents. Robert couldn't care less about them.

Then he saw him, just up ahead, standing up among the flames, looking about wildly. The skin of his face darkening, his clothing encompassed in small licks of flame, slowly smoldering. Noticing Robert, he stumbled forward, trying to close the distance between them. Despite the fact he should be screaming in pain or slowly burning alive, he seemed to be completely unharmed. Roberts mind was vehemently refusing reconcile with what his eyes were observing, the pain in his head getting worse.

“Are you okay?” Tadashi called out to Robert, his voice sounding groggy. Robert almost laughed as a bubble of hysteria rose in his throat.

“Me? You’re on FIRE!” Robert shouted, pointing a shaking hand at Tadashi, the panic finally winning out. Tadashi frowned in confusion, not understanding Roberts hysterics.

“What are you talking about?", Tadashi asked worryingly, raising his arms in a placating gesture. "I’m-“, pausing as he lifted his hands toward his face. Body going still as he saw the flames rolling along the skin of his blacken hands, eating way at the cuffs of his olive green blazers' sleeves. “I’m on fire! What is this!?!” He looked up, orange tinted brown eyes wide with barely contained fright. “I can’t feel it! Why can’t I feel --- **GAH**!”

With a loud metallic shriek, a large ceiling beam fell between them with a sickening crash, narrowly missing Tadashi.

Tadashi!

A third larger explosion then racked the building, its shockwave coming up from behind Tadashi. Blasted forward, he smacked his head sideways with solid crack against the fallen beam.

The force of the same blast knocked Robert backwards clear off of his feet. The microbots catching him just before his back hit the marble floor, sparing him a possible concussion. As he rolled over onto his arms and legs, he was gripped by a series of chest rattling coughs. His throat and lungs constricting painfully at each violent exhalation, mind growing clouded at the lack of oxygen. Microbots tugged at his legs, trying pull him away from the fire that was searing him.

_Where is..?_

Robert felt like he was in a daze, not connecting with his body. He sluggishly rose his head toward the twisted mess of debris that separated him from Tadashi. Through the haze of smoke and flames he was able to make out shapes moving through the debris and fire. He observed one of the shapes lift a smaller one from behind the mangled beam. Gritting his jaw, Robert forced himself to focus on the forms, trying to make them out. The smaller form, it was Tadashi, the fire on his person gone. The shapes, the Hydra agents his lethargic mind supplied, then ran toward the stairwells. Evacuating.

Robert tried to stand up, to surge forward, to follow, but he couldn't, collapsing back down on his arms and knees. The stress and strain finally taking its toll on his body. The building screeched ominously as its structure finally began to fail. Heavy steel beams and ceiling tiles crashing to the floor, a terrifying downpour of heated metal and ceramic. With the fire and smoke closing in at all sides, Robert couldn't see what was in front of him anymore.

His body felt heavy. Head pounding, ears still ringing from the explosion. His throat raw and constricting. Panic grasped his thoughts, instinct beginning to win out. _Escape._ The tugging on his limbs began to get more insistent. He had to leave. _No!_ They have Tadashi! _Run._ Fuck, it hurts all over, but he couldn’t stay any longer. He began to stumble, losing balance. _Too much!!!_ Heart hammering wildly against his ribs. Any more and he'll pass out. How did Hydra get in? _How?_ Have to escape. Survive. Darkness began to encroach on the edges of his vision. They have Tadashi, he can't _abandon him!!_ He can't do this again! Like.. like…

With a roll of his shoulders the microbots surged, encasing him in a large shell again. They speed forward, towards the back of the building and out the emergency exit to the relative safety of outside.

From a short distance Robert stood as the remains of the building smoldered. Microbots slowing cascading down his form into the soft grass. The pandemonium of emergency services audible over the distance.

He turned away, microbots following.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Headcannon that we have is that Tadashi and Callaghan were probably in cahoots in getting Hiro interested to apply for SFIT prior to the events of the movie. Seriously that whole SFIT scene screamed set-up. Show Hiro all the cool Tech and Facilities of the Institute, and just to be safe bring in the BIG GUNS. THE Professor Robert Callaghan, Pioneer of Robotics, whom Hiro appears to have some noticeable "nerd-worship" of. Even the short dialogue exchange between Tadashi and Robert had a "reverse-psychology/manipulative" vibe. Because you cannot tell people like Hiro what to do, you have to subtly nudge him into wanting to do it. And big brother Tadashi is not above dangling shiny bait in front of this brother to do so.
> 
> Comments welcome!


	2. Home Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's just not worth waking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Both of us got hit with major Real Life responsibilities that seriously cut into writing time. Like made it disappear. ::sigh::  
> But without further ado, here is Chapter 2 of Oshiguma, and Chapter 3 is in the works!!!
> 
> Edit: 9/7/16 Preparing to post the next chapter, waiting for feedback from our beta. So doing a bit of cleaning up beforehand. Merged the original Chapter 1 and 2 together, with some edits and tweaks. So now Chapter 3 (with some tweaks) is now 2. Hope this clears up the confusion. Thank you for your patience!

**_OPERATOR_ ** _: "911, please state the nature of your emergency."_

_\- Emergency Services, night of the SFIT fire._

_******_

 

He woke up with a start on his back.

Roberts' tired eyes greeted the dim room, chest tight with contained breath. Rapidly blinking, his vision slowly adjusted to the low light, as he exhaled. His eyes began to dart around in instinctual panic, taking in his surroundings. Only to then stop when his vision focused on the ceiling light fan that hung directly above him. It was familiar.

_I'm home...?_

He's on his bed, in his bedroom, in his apartment.

Confusion.

Within the haze of mental disorientation, a distant part of Robert's mind was dimly aware of a rising sense of physical discomfort. There was a vague sensation of tightness ghosting along his skin. Particularly, across the areas where his skin was still exposed to the air. Those areas felt almost.... _tender_.

He felt very uncomfortable lying on his back _._ Stiff _. You should get up_ , Robert concluded to himself.

He pulled his body into a sitting position. Sucking in a hiss a breath, he grimaced as practically every muscle in his body protested to the movement. Abruptly, the muscles in his arms, back and legs simultaneously spasmed. Robert bit back a groan of pain, his body caught in the grip of multiple muscle cramps. Several long laborious moments later, his muscles slowly relented and loosened. _That was not fun,_ he mussed as he gingerly straightened and stretched out his limbs. His back still sore.

Exhaling the breath that he had unconsciously held during his involuntary muscle spasms, Robert looked downwards. A slightly rumpled thin quilted cover covered his legs, pooling loosely around his hips. Vague patterns of knot-work and stylized animals could be perceived in the soft ambient light.

Looking to the side, the LED clock on the nightstand next to the bed read " **12:23 am** ". His throat is dry and scratchy, swallowing hurts. For some reason there is a tight pressure on his temples, like his head is in a vice.

He reaches over to the nightstand nestled to the right of the bed. Searching for the water bottle that he keeps there; for the times he wakes up with a dry throat. His left hand finds the bottle, taking it; he gives it a perfunctory shake. It's almost empty. He quickly swallows the last few mouthfuls of lukewarm liquid left. The water sooths the dry itching sensation in his throat. He gives a small sigh of relief, -- _that feels so much better_ \-- as he feels the irritating sensation finally disappear. Robert takes the moment to get his thoughts together.

Confusion, slowly gives way to mild surprise. He didn't remember going to sleep, or getting back from the Exhibition. Did he even go? No, he did. He had to have gone. He was still fully dressed, he realized, looking himself over. Even in the dim light, he can make out that he is wearing his wool sweater vest over a dress shirt. Sleeves still folded above the elbow.

Quick glances down his arms revealed that his watch is still on his left wrist. Normally, he would put on the nightstand, before going to bed. On closer inspection, Robert saw that the analog watch face was now cracked ( _how_?), however it was still functional. Although, the leather strap it did feel a bit tight around the wrist, it was ignorable. He stares at the cracked glass of the watch face, as it mechanically counts away the seconds.

 _Something is not adding up,_ he finds himself wondering. Robert then throws back the quilted cover off his legs with his free hand, revealing them still clothed in his dress pants. His shoes were still on his feet. _Why didn't I take my shoes off when I got home?_

Something was wrong; there was an underlying smell in the room that he was not identifying. No, his mind was refusing to identify the smell. Robert knew that he should be able to recognize the smell. He should-- The pressure in his head spikes. He winces. The empty water bottle drops from his hand, rolling off the edge of the bed, forgotten. He hears something.

_Wha...?_

There was this sound barely on the edge of his hearing. It was so faint, coming in and out of his perception. Much less his awareness. However, when it did make itself known, it swiftly faded back into the ambient back ground noise of the room.

_What was that sound? Clicks?_

Robert found he could not focus on it long enough to locate where it was coming from, but it seemed far away. Therefore, he chose to ignore it in favor of more immediate matters. That distracting smell. It was close. Nearby.

Something clicked in his mind right then. Robert felt a curl of unease take root in his stomach. The smell was coming from himself. But he still could not put a finger on what it was.

He reached up to his chest and lightly patted both hands against the front of the wool sweater vest still he wore. Pausing the palpations, he rubbed his palms down the smooth texture of the hand knitted material. _That's not right_ , he thought in confused concern; as his hands moved further down his chest. The texture felt too smooth, like there was some kind of residue clinging to his vest. _Was that the cause of the smell?_ He decided to rub harder against the wool vest trying to get as much of the smell as possible on to his hands. Apprehension mounting. _He needed to know!_

The smell grew stronger. It became cloying and heavy. The scent was starting to make him nauseous. Against his better judgement, he brought his hands to his face, and breathed deeply the pungent scent that was clinging to his clothing. Forcing his mind to focus and identify the scent.

It was, was...

Burnt?

No.

 _Smoke_.

He **remembered**.

The growing unease in his stomach exploded. Newborn anxiety twisting outwards, burrowing into his extremities. His chest constricts violently, breath hyperventilating as vivid recollections of the _Fire_ replay before him in rapid fire stills.

 _I can't breathe_. The thought thrashed within his mind. Hands clawing at his throat, body curling into a ball, trapped in lucid recollection. _An explosion. Hydra. Fire. His body hitting the ground, both convulsing and paralyzed with electricity. Tadashi. The beam crashing between them. Being blown backwards. Tadashi was_ ** _TAKEN_** _. I can't move. The building is collapsing....!!! Have to escape!_

Panic slammed into his jumbled thoughts, the pressure on his temples spiking into mind-numbing pain. His eyes squeeze shut, vainly trying to block it out. The ungodly shriek of heat warped metal as the buildings' main supports start to give away. **_RUN!_** The sensation of heat pressing from all sides. His skin feels tight, like it's _BURNING_. **_ESCAPE!_**

The bedroom fills with a shrill screech that threatened to overwhelm his senses. The sound echoes throughout his mind. Robert instinctively clapped his hands over his ears to block out the sound, his fingers brushed against something cool and smooth. Something not part of his head.

The unexpected touch disrupts his spiraling thoughts for a brief moment. That single interruption was all it took for Robert to wrangle and corral his stampeding thoughts. To instead focus them on the foreign weighted sensation that rested on his temples. The earsplitting discordant crescendo lessened into a soft murmur of clicks in his head. Which gradually faded back into background of his senses.

Robert took the brief respite to investigate; fingers tracing the smooth surface from his temples, toward his forehead. He tried to comprehend what it was. It felt like there was a band tightly bound to his head, its edges digging into the skin of his forehead, temples and scalp. The pressure against his skull was barely tolerable. It also itched terribly, the prickling sensation running along the edges that dug into his skin. He wanted to _scratch_.

Recognition hits him.

It was the Transmitter.

The Neurocranial Transmitter.

For Hiro's Microbots.

The Microbot's...

_Where are the Microbots?_

Robert raised his head from the hunched position he had taken during his panic. His hands remained behind, lying loosely in his lap. Forcing his eyes back open, he scrutinized the dimly lit room.

The sliding doors that lead to his apartment balcony were open. A warm breeze wafted through the frame disturbing the dark window curtains situated next to them. The wane luminance from the San Fransokyo skyline filtering inside, stopping just beyond the foot of his bed. It made no sense to him. _That's not right, I always keep that closed. Especially at night. Locked, in fact._

Flicking his attention to the LED clock on the nightstand, it read " **12:27 am** ". Its' soft blue glow contrasted faintly against the darkness shrouding the wall behind it. However, the room seemed darker now, shadows lengthening and spreading up along the walls closest to the bed.

Robert heard it again. That faint clicking sound. _There is that sound again,_ he pondered. Tilting his head in puzzlement, a frown began to pull at his face. _Where is it coming from?_

He reached back over to the nightstand, to a small reading lamp adjacent of the clock. He turns it on. An instant later he really wished he hadn't done that. Robert's limbs froze as his mind fixated on what just laid behind the lamp on the nightstand.

Microbots. Slowly scaling the wall. Each individual bot methodically clambering over each other; the mass gradually streamed and branched outwards and upwards. Faint clicks of their movements echoing in Roberts ears. _So, that was where that sound was coming from_ , his mind blandly supplied.

Staring into the inky blackness of the climbing mass, Robert systematically discerned sharp lines and angles. Their individual minute metal forms barely discernable from the totality of the swarm, giving an illusion of singularity. The view was... rather calming. Robert found himself mesmerized. Enthralled. Lazily making out patterns from the flat planes of its forms, he focused at the reflections of the light from the nearby reading lamp. Its soft luminance gave off a fine sheen where the swarms' lines and angles ran parallel to each other. Its luster idly reminded him of raven feathers.

As if realizing they were being scrutinized, the swarm aborted its glacial creep towards the ceiling.

The illusion broke.

Alarmed by the Microbots abrupt action, Robert tore himself from the sight, twisting his face toward the bedroom door that was at the opposite wall. His body was tense, ready to run. To escape. The pressure in his head grew heavy and constricting as he then beheld his bedroom door completely obscured in more Microbots. Sealing him off from the rest of his home.

He glanced over his shoulder. Nascent terror nibbled at the edges of his consciousness, as he observed the secondary ( _primary?_ ) Microbot mass --that was still behind the nightstand-- had spread rapidly upwards towards the ceiling. Its earlier sporadic faint clicks had increased in its tempo until the individual sounds had joined together into a pitched chittering.

He looks up, arching his head toward the ceiling. His gaze slowly followed the black metallic tendrils as they flowed above his head. Watching as they effortlessly streamed, mimicking rivets of water, around the ceiling fan light. Reaching towards the other mass that had sealed off the bedroom door. They were encasing him in; he numbly concluded. Robert felt a sliver of ice ride down his spine. He was trapped.

"No.", he ground out under his breath. _I'm in control here,_ he forcefully reminded himself. His hands clench, muscles in his forearms tense in concentration. Pushing down at the creeping fear, he shoved it into box at the corner of his mind. That is not important; he can deal with that later. Much later. Gathering his thoughts, he focused his attention toward the obstruction before him, and issued a single mental command. _Stand down!_

Slight relief washed over him as the Microbot mass in front of him responded. Swiftly cascading off the door and walls, onto the floor in a flurry of chittering clicks. The swarm then neatly bisected into two distinct masses and separated from each other. Both parts then came to rest on opposite sides of door frame. Revealing a clear path to the closed door from his bed.

Alright, he definitely did not order them to do that part, he ruminated to himself. The pressure in his head started to throb, light spikes of pain at the end of each pulse, pointedly reminding him of the Transmitter still on his head. _If this keeps up I'm going to get one hell of a migraine._ Reaching up with both hands, Robert pulled the transmitter off. He winced as he felt something tear away from his left temple, leaving the area feeling raw and exposed. He ignored it. The pressure in his head lessened. Soft clicks faded to nothing, leaving the room still and silent. Inert.

If Robert was in his normal frame of mind, he may have been concerned over the Microbots apparent independent actions. Or at the very least curious. However, his mind's disassociation -- _relief_ \-- from the small machines left him with feelings of muted ambivalence towards them. Robert refused to dwell on them further. Besides, he had more interesting matters to attend to; he gave the transmitter held in his hands a cursory look over.

Aside from what appears to be a single short circuited sensor, the transmitter looked rather unscathed. The sensor probably overloaded and blew when he was stun bolted by those HYDRA goons. Not one of the best experiences in his life, all things considered. He did not remember it hurting that much in the past. The side of his torso itched in sympathy at the memory. Robert absentmindedly rubbed at the spot through his sweater vest, trying to sooth the irritation.

Still, he was quite amazed at the good condition of the head piece. When by all rights, the stun blot should have overloaded the entire device, rendering it useless. It probably would not have ended well for him, if it actually had happened, though. A dark mood settled into his train of thought. _Might have killed me_ , Robert reflects in morbid humor.

Turning the headpiece over in his hands, he notes the efficient placement and spacing of the sensors. Good solid design here.

 _Impressive._ Robert felt a warm surge of pride for his potential student, his lips curling into a warm smile that reached his eyes. His mood lifting. Hiro's invention was one of the best he had seen at the Exhibition, he--- The feeling of pride was short lived, as the enormity of the situation crashed into the forefront of his mind.

"Oh my God...", he breathed heavily into the silence of the bedroom. Eyes widening, he stared blankly at the transmitter in his hands in disbelief, feeling the blood drain from his face. Leaving an expanse of numbness in its wake, spreading down his neck and spine.

He was almost kidnapped. By **HYDRA**. Those bastards set the exhibition hall on _FIRE_ , just to make it look like he died in there. He nearly did die in there. He felt dazed at the realization of the events that just occurred not even --he flicks his sight to the clock on the night stand, **12:37am** \-- 3 hours ago. If it wasn't for Hiro's carelessness with the Transmitter, he--

Dropping the transmitter, he dug the palms of his hands into his eyes. Blunt nails pressed harshly into his scalp. It felt strange, as he recalled the events. He didn't feel that it really happened. This recollection was no more than a painfully vivid nightmare; one that he will eventually wake up from. That this wasn't really him sitting in his bed reeking of fire smoke.

_He is going to wake up late, like he always does on Sunday. Get up, get dressed for work. After he goes to his favorite diner for brunch, he will buy three boxes of donuts, and head off to the SFIT robotic labs to chaperone his students. After dropping off the donut boxes at the lab lounge, he will do his usual rounds, before heading over to the specialized lab rooms to congratulate Tadashi on..._

Robert fought down the sudden bubble of hysteria as the rest of the events played out in his mind. Tadashi. Tadashi came back for him. Into a burning building. _Oh, of all the stupid, self-sacrificing....!!!_ Anger quickly roiled up, overriding the hysteria.

Robert felt is his teeth clench as he recalled with crystal clear clarity, Tadashi's face frozen in terror as those HYDRA goons had him against the burning building's wall. Tadashi almost getting killed by an explosions' backdraft. Orange yellow flames flickering on his exposed skin, -- _that was not burning him!?! Why was he not burning?!?_ The fallen beam narrowly missing Tadashi, separating them from each other. Another explosion. Tadashi's unconscious form being carried off by those bastards. A sting of self-loathing laced through the anger, as he recalled the utter helplessness he felt as Tadashi was taken. As he was choking in the smoke and fire. He held on to the recollections tightly. Anger is good. He can use this anger to focus, maintain an objective. He clears his mind.

Breath in. Breath out.

Assess.

Plan.

Execute.

Assessment: He is the target of a HYDRA extraction operation in a high profile location. The location was arsoned to cover the extraction, and to set up his "death". So that no one would investigate afterwards. There is a high probability that he has been marked for dead, as there was no way he could have escaped from the then collapsing building. Therefor--

Wait.

_How did I escape the building?_

Robert paused as he tried to recall what happened, and drew a blank. There was a hole in his memory from being trapped in the fire to waking up in his bed. _Strange,_ he thought with mild concern. _I don't remember._ He quickly disregarded the train of thought, and shoved it to back of his mind. _That doesn't matter_. How he survived the fire, or how he got home afterwards was not important. What is important that he _failed_ to protect Tadashi. The word reverberated in his consciousness, sharp and vicious, knocking lose emotions of grief and loss. Like when he failed to protect Abigail, when she was.. she...

 _Pull yourself together you idiot!_ Robert thought harshly, mentally slapping himself. _You do not have time for self-pity! Your position could be compromised by now!_

He realized then, somberly, that he would have to go quiet and disappear. Bid his time, gather Intel and build resources. Locate where Tadashi is being held; --he vehemently refused to entertain any other scenario-- and mount a rescue operation. Therefore, best way to stay under HYDRA's radar will be to stay "dead". He is going to have do this alone, he can't afford to tell anyone, or even get help. No one else gets into HYDRA's crosshairs, he will not allow it.

Paranoia slowly wormed into his thoughts, underlining the silent rage simmering underneath. Infecting his rationale with distrust. HYDRA agents could be anyone or anywhere, in the police force, the city government... _Dear Lord, were they among the Institute's Faculty?!?_ Can't afford to trust anyone now, least they finish the job. _I can't help Tadashi if I'm captured. Or worse._

He can--

A loud sound breaks the silence of the room. He snaps his head up, mental planning interrupted. Robert heard a door open. His front apartment door in fact.

Shit.

Robert held his breath, as he strained his ears to hear any sounds beyond the walls of his bedroom. Sounds that could help him discern on whom, or more importantly, how many had invaded his home.

Robert concentrated on the singular sound of muffled footsteps that filtered through the bedroom door. The gap between his bedroom floor and door illuminated as the intruder turned the house lights on. _Sounds like only one person_ , he assessed as he slowly slid off his bed; planting his shoed feet onto the carpeted floor. The Transmitter abandoned on the bed.

Robert took a deep cleansing breath, and focused himself. Falling back on his training. Easily slipping into the composed frame of mind that served him well in his past days of deployment. Everything slowed, senses narrowed; information organized - objectives updated. Assess. Plan. Execute.

_New sub-objective. Locate and subdue intruder. Interrogate. Eliminate if necessary._

He quickly toed off his shoes. No need to give away his position once he moved to the hard wooded floor of the hallway. He then moved, placing himself next to the closed bedroom door. Socked feet brushing against the edge of the fairly large inert Microbot pile that had pooled on the bedroom floor earlier.

For a moment, Robert diverted his attention to the Transmitter on his bed. He considered the option; but he decided against it. The Microbots, while a powerful tool, were extremely noisy. Using them now would destroy any possible element of surprise he may still have. Their inclusion in the current objective would not be recommended. He needed to do this quiet. He will leave the transmitter here, then. If, on the off chance that the odds go against him, he can fallback to this defendable position.

Carefully placing his hand on the doorknob in a loose grip, he prepares himself to leave the relative safety of the bedroom. He concentrates for a moment. Ready. Listening. Judging from the sounds, it appeared that the intruder had yet to move past the living room. _Sloppy,_ Robert chided them mentally _._ Should have done a sweep of the place first. _Still, their mistake is my advantage;_ Robert thought in mild amusement, a sharp grin graced his face.

He stealthily opened the door just wide enough to slip though. Silently, he slid against the inner hall wall, moving toward the bend that would lead to the dining room area. His senses estimating and updating the parameters of the objective as he inched toward the corner. Exercising caution, he quickly peeked around it.

 _Visual confirmation acquired_ , he mentally verified. Robert swiftly reverted back to his standby position against the wall. He took a moment and reviewed what he had observed.

_Hm. Only one target. Average sized, leaning toward small. Male? Or maybe Female? Wearing what appears to be a dark gray colored pants and a reddish-brown jacket. No identifiable designs or insignia's. Slightly hunched over, can't make out the complete head though. No visible hair. Head covering? Individual is rummaging through his dining room furniture drawers, an open black roller duffle lying next to their feet. No observable weapons. Back is facing the hallway._

He still had the element of surprise, their six is wide open. Good. Robert took a deep inhalation, and made his move. Quickly rounding the corner, muscles tensed in preparation to rush and subdue the target. His eyes widened, as he felt his blood run cold at what he saw happening before him.

The intruder, still not noticing that there was another person in the apartment, held a framed photograph in their gloved hands. Of Abigail.

Robert eyes narrowed as the intruder began to break the backing of the frame. The sharp cracking of the wooden frame piercing in his ears, his vision turned red.

_Blink._

From the moment the hot blinding rage surged at the presence of the desecration of his daughter's memory, everything simply stopped. Robert felt mild detachment as all the anger, paranoia, stress and fear that he had tried to box in, broke free and invaded his composed mindset. All his senses abruptly stilled, and then dispassionately targeted themselves toward the only other person in the room. He felt cold. Detached.

All the careful assessment, the prior planning, the exercised caution; thrown right out the proverbial window. He observed himself in muted surprise, barreling toward the target with a barely audible growl of --what he would later identify -- frigid black rage reverberating in the back of his throat. Nor did he care when he tackled the intruder from behind, purposely smashing them face first into his dining room table cabinet. Abigail's photograph, thrown from the intruders hands by the force of the tackle, clattered to the floor. The impact of their bodies jarred loose hanging photographs, and several decorations off the wall.

The heavy wooden table cabinet gave an audible groan. The combined weight of both Robert and the Intruder strained its construction almost to its limit. But it still held together, even as several additional framed photographs were all but thrown off it. The fallen frames shattered as they struck the floor, joining the partially destroyed framed photograph of Abigail. Small shards of glass narrowly avoided being stepped on.

Taking full advantage of the intruders’ surprise, Robert wrapped his left arm around the intruders’ slim neck, while the other placed itself next to their covered head. The arm around the neck gripped the inner elbow of his right, locking and completing the hold. His free right hand then gripped harshly onto the intruders head covering ( _A ski mask? Really?_ ), and the hair beneath. Planting his feet, he used his leverage, wrenching the lithe intruder backwards off the table.

The intruder gave an abrupt high pitched yelp, as they were yanked off. Booted feet instinctively scrabbled for purchase on the floor. Gloved hands futilely attempted to grip and pull the arm that was pressed against their neck.

Roberts’s size difference was made more apparent, as he had to slightly bend to speak directly into the intruders’ ear. "Who are you?", Robert demanded. "What are you doing in my home!?". He punctuated the next command with a frim yank of the intruders head. "Talk!"

"What the fuck...!?", she -- _the intruder is a she, Robert realized_ \-- shouted, her hands pulled at the arm wrapped around her throat. Her voice was nasally and harsh, but that could have been from a smashed in nose. A faint sweet scent was coming off her as well. Perfume? It was vaguely familiar. A distant section of his mind idly cataloged the observation.

Robert tensed the muscles in his arms, slightly increasing the pressure on the intruders’ neck. Bluntly reminding her of her current predicament. "Who. Are. You.", he emphasized; voice low and cold. His patience was beginning to run thin.

She froze, as if she recognized this voice. "Your home? How did you get past...?". She renewed her struggling against him. Trying to kick backwards at his shins with her booted feet. It was rather pathetic. "Wait, you're supposed to be dead! We were told that you're going to be dead!?!".

Robert narrowed his eyes as he turned the intruders’ protests in his mind. Pinpointing on the fact that the intruder was told by somebody ( _HYDRA? Other third party? Who!?_ ) that he was " _going to be dead_ ". If she was not here to finish the job HYDRA started, then what the _bloody hell was she here for?!_ Unless…

Robert slowly, carefully; directed his attention sideways, towards the open roller duffel lying not too far off. Laying inside was the laptop (!) he often left on the kitchen countertop. However, what really drew his attention were the several pieces of silverware that glinted in the soft florescent lighting of the dining room. His silverware, his father's heirloom silverware...

Robert felt a wave of incredulous anger wash over him, pushing hard at his composure. Not only was he almost kidnapped ( _stun bolted_ ). Nearly suffocated to death in the middle of a burning ( _collapsing_ ) building. Allowed Tadashi to be captured ( _you didn't protect him!!!_ ). He was being **ROBBED**. ( _Thief, she’s a Thief!_ ). This... This _vulture_ had known he was not meant to return home after the Exhibition. This _vulture_ had been waiting!

If he wasn't so focused on maintaining his fierce hold on his temper, or fighting the near overwhelming urge to just _squeeze_ ; he may have started to break down at the complete ridiculousness of it all. Instead, so wrapped in his thoughts, he failed to notice the subtle change of movement of the Thief.

Robert felt something hard and pointed begin to dig into the muscle just above his hip. Right on the sensitized flesh that was stun bolted not even three hours ago. Instinct took over. His body moved.

**_Crack!_ **

He eyes widened in bewilderment, as he felt more than heard the abrupt shift of cervical vertebrae in the thief's' neck. The body in his hold subsequently going limp. Without thinking, Robert unceremoniously dropped the body. His breath coming in short gasps, frigid shock reverberating throughout his body. As the Thief's body hit the wooded floor with all the grace of a stringless marionette, he voiced the first thing that came to the front of his mind.

 **"FUCK**!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that went well Robert. 
> 
> We wanna give a major thanks to the folks to gave this Fic a look, Kudo'd and/or bookmarked it, as well. You guys are the best!  
> Comments, Questions, and Criticisms welcome!


	3. Egression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a funny thing about hand to hand combat. It's over much faster than what the average person sees in Movies and TV shows. There is no posturing, dramatic circling, or witty banter. In a life or death situation the only thing that matters is to kill your opponent before they can kill you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, its finally done! Thank you for you patience! This chapter ended up fairly large (which we hope makes up for the stupid long wait) and was a bit difficult to write, so fair warning.

_When faced with an unknown and potentially harmful event, attack, or general threat to survival. The body responds by priming the sympathetic nervous system. More specifically, the adrenal medulla produces a flood of catecholamines, especially norepinephrine and epinephrine. The hormones estrogen, testosterone, and cortisol. And the neurotransmitters dopamine and serotonin. These will evoke an unconscious response in you. Fight, Flight, or Freeze. You do not get to choose which one it will be. It is automatic. Instinct._

******

 

Robert was livid

There really was not any other way to describe it. He could not understand what had just occurred. One moment he had the Thief completely under control, the next, dead by a broken neck at his feet. She had no method to break out of that type of hold, she had no leverage to take advantage off. He made sure of that! What had just happened to trigger such a mindless reaction from himself.

 _I know I have better control than that!_ Robert berated himself, disgusted at his lapse.

Staring down hard at the body that now graced his polished hardwood floor, as if he could divine an answer from the dead. Robert tried his best to not grind his teeth in mounting frustration. Instead, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks; least he started to dig his nails into his palms as well. Frustration ebbed slightly as his right hand brushed against the familiar texture of his keys and wallet. His fingers immediately wrapped themselves around the keys. Closing his eyes, Robert took a deep breath, and he gave the keys a brief hard squeeze. The sharp metallic edges lightly bit into the flesh of his palm. Their familiar weight and form reassured him, grounded him, his dour mood lifted slightly. Opening his eyes, he returned his attention to the recently deceased.

There was a kind of irony of dying in the living room, he reflected, mood turning decidedly black in humor. Oh, what an absurd sight he must present. A slowly cooling corpse, face down on the cusp between the Living Room and Dining Room, with all the dignity of a broken sack of potatoes. Himself, sighing heavily through his nose, both hands in his pants pockets, standing among fallen wall decorations and broken portrait frames. Blankly staring at the body. In his socks. And not a shred of useful intelligence to show for it.

Even on past missions during his time in the Army that went completely SNAFU, the fire teams' he was deployed with always managed to complete the objectives. Well... There was those times that they didn't _quite_ successfully fulfill the parameters. _Heh, those were memorable_. But they did have something to show for it in the end. Which is something he distinctly _lacked_ in this situation. And no, a dead body definitely does not count.

Robert spat out a vindictive curse in the Gaelic tongue of his Irish forefathers. Or more to the point, his father.

_"Go ndéana an diabhal dréimire de cnámh do dhroma ag piocadh úll i ngairdín Ifrinn!"_

It took a fair portion of his control fight down the near overwhelming urge to spit in the general direction of the corpse. And as much as he wanted to continue his verbal tirade, it probably would not be a good idea to not fixate on that. He needs to move on. To go forward.

Uncomfortable awareness settled over him with the affirmation that this was the "best" outcome for this situation. It was even part of the parameters for the objective he had setup earlier back in his bedroom.

Eliminate if necessary.

 _No witnesses_. The blunt statement sat cold in his mind. No compromise was allowed.

What else was he going to do afterwards, if he had successfully interrogated her? Robert rationalized to himself. He could not afford to leave any witnesses of his continued existence. Especially, if the Thief's contacts ( _Hydra. Most likely. Could be a unrelated third party, though. Damn it, I need more information!)_ had known of his intended kidnapping, and had intended to capitalized on his permanent disappearance with a robbery of his apartment.

His personal workstation alone was worth several thousand dollars. And let's not even start on the information and personal projects stored on it, if it was accessed. And that's a big "if" right there. A smug grin crossed Roberts face unbidden, as he whimsically imagined the look of utter frustration and soul crushing despair that any would be code breaker would experience as they would fail over and over getting into his files. _Good luck getting past my encryption protocols and security fail-safes Jackasses!;_ Robert viciously thought.

Perhaps laughing wasn't the best thing he could have been doing at the moment. Although, considering the several emotional roller-coasters that he had experienced within the last hour ( _Thirty minutes? Fifteen?_ ), it was probably inevitable once he had a few precious uninterrupted moments to actually reflect on the situation he found himself in.

 _"_ Ha... _"._

Robert simply couldn't help himself, he couldn't stifle the chuckle that escaped him. Once it did, it snowballed into full blown hysterical laughter. All the tightly wounded underlining anxiety that had been contained in his frame since he woke up in his bed began to loosen its grip on his mind, as it transitioned from thoughts of petty posthumous vengeance to contemplating the absurd turn his life had taken.

 _Probably not the smartest thing to be doing with a corpse less than a foot away Robert._ A distant part of Roberts' mind helpfully commented, it sounded a bit like Tadashi or Sarah when exasperated with him; if he had took the time to think about it further. Instead, he opted to completely agree with the comment, _Yes, it is probably not a good idea to be doing this_. But he felt so much better laughing; the prickling flush of _lightness_ spreading throughout his body was a welcome sensation. He needed to do this. _Just let me enjoy this a bit longer;_ he pleaded to no one in particular.

Of course, nothing lasts forever. A moment of reprieve, much less. After the next couple of heaving laughs, his injured right side promptly reminded him of its irritated existence. With all the subtlety of a punch to the gut.

Robert grunted as his side violently spasmed, abdominal muscles involuntarily clenching. His hands flew, vacating from their respective pockets, pressing themselves down over the not-so recent injury. _Ow! What the hell!? Why is my side hurting now!?!_ He glanced angrily down at his side, mentally fuming at his body's' apparent betrayal. _Really, now?,_ he thought with some mild annoyance at the sore throbbing coming from where his hands pressed upon.

 _Well, my body could have chosen a much worse time to get my attentions_ , he conceded; _therefore, I should not be complaining._ Robert came to a decision on his next course of action. _Better do a quick inspection of the injury while I still have a moment. Just to be sure._

Quickly tugging at the right hem of both his sweater vest and the dress shirt underneath with his left hand. Robert carefully lifted the two articles of clothing upwards, exposing his lower right abdomen to the cool air of his apartment. The painful throbbing in his side lessened a bit in response to the abrupt change in temperature.

Robert arched his head down toward his chest, hunching over slightly for a better perspective, ignoring the tight burning sensation that sparked across his side and lower back. What he then saw was an angry reddened discolored expanse, laying within the side abdominal area between his lower ribs and upper hip. It appeared no bigger than the breadth of his hand, although the inflamed skin could have extended into his lower back. That area appeared to have been affected by the stun bolt as well, if the shared sensation of heat and tightness on his lower back is any indication. He found he could not observe where the stun bolt had actually hit him, as it seems that it laid just beyond the curve of his side. _I was hit in the back?,_ Robert wondered. O _r was it further down my side, where I can't see?_ He will definitely need a mirror later, he concluded. He returned his attention on the observable portion of his injury.

 _Not... Too bad._ _No blood. That's good_. Robert reflected, further scrutinizing the injury. _Looks more inflamed than anything. Doesn't really hurt much, now that I think about it. No more worse than a really terrible sunburn._ A sunburn that is going to peel horribly once it starts to heal, the sarcastic part of his mind playfully remarked. Great. He was so looking forward to that.

No matter. He can deal with that later once he settles down to do a proper assessment of injuries and requisite first aid. Right now, he needed finish this cursory examination of the injury.

Looking a bit further, just at the edge of his view, were a few small blisters no bigger than his pinky nail scattered about. Each furiously itched once his attention was on them. He really wanted to scratch, to seek some kind of relief. The fingers closest to the blisters twitched. Robert pushed down the urge. He knew that giving in will just make it worse down the road.

 _I learned my lesson last time that happened years ago. Abigail mocked me mercilessly for weeks on end afterwards._ Robert fondly recollected, the sides of his mouth pulling upwards in a soft smile. _Good times._

The itching subsided, as another chuckle escaped his throat. His side promptly answered with another muscle spasm. _Oh for the love of....!!!!_

 _This does not make any sense, my side shouldn't still be so sensitive now!,_ Robert groused. Rolling his eyes upwards in exasperation he roughly tugged down the fabric of his dress shirt and sweater vest back over the right side of his torso.

A weak spark of itching irritation danced across his injured right side and lower back in response to its unkind treatment. "Stop that.", Robert acidly muttered under his breath to himself. _You're not bleeding. No bones are broken. Therefore, you're not impeded in any reasonable way. This is annoying and a waste of energy. Stop it._ He really could not afford to have his attention split like this. Robert knew he needed his wits about him.

The itching faded, leaving a mild sensation of tightness whenever he moved. He can work with that. Hands absentmindedly pulled and straightened the hem of the wool sweater vest, completely disregarding the underlying dress shirt. Robert sighed, pulling his train of thought back on track.

It wasn't hurting before when he had woke up earlier, Robert recalled. Crossing his arms across his chest, he continued his contemplation. Did he aggravate the injury somehow?

 _It was possible_ , he considered; brow furrowing in pensive thought. It could have happened at any time between subduing the Thief to now. Roberts mind carefully replayed the events, in an attempt to discern when it could have happened. Maybe he was too close to the cabinet, and the edge pressed against him when he had grappled the Thief. Being so focused on his opponent, his body simply didn't notice that he had jostled his injured side. Until now at least.

No, wait, that did not fit with what he could remember. Robert's eyes narrowed at the inconsistency, mind awash in fresh confusion. At no point was he close enough to any furniture to make contact with his right side. His left side was facing toward the cabinet, when he had grappled the Thief into a sleeper hold. In fact, the only thing within striking range of his right side would have been the…

Robert froze, breath caught in his throat, eyes widening as his train of thought pulled into its morbid conclusion. All his attention then fixated on the corpse that laid less than a foot from his socked feet. A heavy sense of foreboding prickled within his chest. It was cold.

" _What did you do?"_ The question slipped out into the dead silence of his apartment.

He did not like where this was going. A creeping sense of dread began to settle around Robert. Heavy and smothering, like a soaked woolen blanket. He should stop. Right now. Don't go any further with this. Just walk past the body, back up the hall, and... and... Do what? Return to his bedroom? Go back to bed? He is rather tired…

No, he couldn't do that. Robert mentally pushed down the feeling of creeping exhaustion. He-- He has to push forward towards the goal. There was no choice. It was the only logical conclusion to take.

Eyes on the objective.

Continue the mission.

_Search the body._

Stiffly, Robert knelt on the hardwood floor of his dining room, and carefully rolled the corpse onto it's back. Robert flinched as he fought the instinctual reaction to fully recoil as his nose caught the scent of the one of the more unfortunate immediate effects of death has on a body. He hated that stench, especially when combined with other less wholesome scents. Dangerous scents.

It's just a smell, Robert thought in self reassurance. Nothing dangerous now. A perfectly mundane biological scent. He has smelled worse combinations on the field. And on campus. Let's not forget that insane prank war a few years back. The alliance between the Engineering Department and Chemistry Department was terrifying.

All right, we are getting completely off topic here, Robert mentally chided to himself. _Focus_! Search the body. Check for weapons, communications equipment and/or any identifying materials. Get something useful out of this situation!

Leaning forward on his knees, Robert gingerly reached for the ski mask. Robert gave pause, hands abruptly stopping inches from the masks hem that encircled the corpses' broken neck. That sweet smell again, it was stronger now.

The smell itself barely overrode the pervasive stench of death that wafted off the corpse that laid before him, but it's distinct contrast made it more noticeable. No longer an underlining scent, it tickled the insides sides of his nose. Robert briefly closed his eyes and focused on it. Fruit? Yes, it reminded him of fruit. Almost like... Citric Acid? It was familiar, he had smelt it in the past. That he was certain. But where? He opened his eyes, brow drawn slightly downwards as he attempted to connect the familiarity to a concrete memory.

The sting of frustration started to mount at every attempt to remember. Every time Robert thought he might had gotten something, he drew a blank. He just could not place it. Why is he drawing a blank? He knows he can place the scent, it's right on the edge of his memory. Right on the tip of his tongue. Damn it! This is going to bother him now.

The earlier feeling of foreboding gave way to a deep seated sense of wrongness in his gut. As it slowly climbed its way up his spine, he retreated his hands away from the body's exposed neck.

Placing his hands palms down just above his knees, Robert harshly gripped the fabric of his slacks. Nails digging into the muscle of his upper leg through the clothing in frustration. Averting his eyes downward, he stared intently at his clenched hands, his thoughts focusing inwards. He did not need to deal with this, he decided. He did not need to know who this Thief was. It is not relevant to situation. _Leave the mask on. Keep the anonymity_. Robert further followed his logic path to its conclusion. _Works better to be ignorant on who this Thief was_.

For another long moment, Robert continued to blankly stare downward at the hands that still gripped at the fabric of his pants' leg. The pervasive feeling of wrongness in his gut paused in its' glacial creep up his spine. He blinked, awareness opening back up to the external environment. _Where was I? Ah, right._ Robert reached again forward.

He kept his search crisp and perfunctory. Each movement no more than what is needed. Efficient.

Robert runs his hands across the body's' collarbone, down the breastbone, and under the bust. Feeling for anything hidden under the clothing. He pointedly avoids the neck area. No wires for hidden communication equipment in the regular areas. He slides his hands down the sides of the torso, then makes a pass around the corpses' waist. No side holsters. No hidden weapons or guns. Good so far.

Next are the arms. Starting at right shoulder, Robert uses both hands to slide down the inner and outer sides of the jacket clad arm. As he passed the elbow into the forearm, his progress was impeded.

_What the--?_

_What is this_?, Robert wondered. He feels through the jacket arm. Hard, rectangular in general shape; feels to be attached to the inner part of the forearm. Interesting. He lifts the arm from the floor, and pulls the sleeve of the jacket down to the elbow, revealing the device to his curious eyes. Was this what aggravated my side?

Robert found himself drawn to the device, curiosity winning out over caution. The engineer in him itching to learn, to understand what he was looking at.

At first he thought he was looking at a medical brace. Similar to the ones he has used in the past to prevent Carpal Tunnel from ruining his own wrists. A constant danger for any prolific programmer, such as himself. But no, while the dark colored brace did share the basic design of a standard medical wrist brace, what stood out was what was attached to the brace itself.

It was a slender, flat, rectangular box, entirely composed of metal; running down the inner length of the forearm from elbow to wrist. Some kind of handless device perhaps? Robert considered the possibly, running both eyes and fingers over the chassis. His mind idly cataloguing the dimensions and possible material composition.

The metal chassis itself was bereft of any decorations, motifs, or identifying marks. Aside from several weld marks on the sides, it was utilitarian in overall aesthetic. He further continued his examination, drawing the arm closer for a better look.

At the wrist there was some kind of thin cable running from the device to a plain metal ring worn on the index finger of the gloved hand. _Some kind of manual triggering mechanism, then?_ , Robert inquired to himself. Highly possible. Maybe if he pulled the hand carefully backwards he coul--

_Ka-Shink!_

Robert started, eyes rapidly blinking in surprise. The sharp metallic sound of a nearly eight inch blade deploying from the wrist opening of the device was unbearably loud in the silence of his living room. It took all of what remained of his control to not outright drop the arm in shocked disbelief of what he witnessed.

_What kind of comic book **shite** is this?!?_

This is what had been pressed against his injured side?!! _This bitch could have killed me!,_ Robert realized with rising indignation. He quickly reviewed the scenario in his head. The Thief must have known that she had no recourse in breaking his solid hold. Considering her size, weight, and complete lack of a counter grapple; she must have opted to simply stab him in order to force him to let go.

Considering the sound the weapon made when he had _stupidly_ set off the manual trigger, it was most probably a basic cable, spring and catch system. A simple, yet efficient design. The engineering side of his mind immediately calculated amount of force that the device would have applied to his side.

With blade of that length, combined with the force of its release-- it would have driven directly into his side-- into his liver! He would have bled to death! She had intended to KILL him!

Fortunately for him it didn't go quite as intended, now did it? The Thief had pressed the weapon against him in the worst possible place imaginable, and he reacted accordingly. _You allowed yourself to get distracted_ , Robert berated himself, _You should have noticed what she was doing. You could have prevented it from happening. Sloppy, Robert, real sloppy! And look what it got you!_

Yes, he did get distracted, and this was the result of his carelessness. Just like it was last time. But still…

Robert found himself grudgingly agreeing with the inevitable conclusion of the Thief's' final action. It was self-defense, he tried to convince himself. If he had not reacted the way he did, it would had been himself lying on the floor as a corpse. He was in the right. Wasn't he?

Exhaling slowly through his nose, Robert promptly dropped the arm back onto the floor, disgust visible on his face. He swiftly stood back up from his kneeing position on the floor, wanting no more than to put as much distance from himself and the body. He's done. He can't take much more of this, Roberts thinks; the beginnings of hysteria creeping into his thoughts. He needs a drink. A stiff one. Before he has a (overdue) breakdown. _Don’t think. Don't think about it. Ignore it._ At the rate he's going, sooner rather than later.

Robert snaps this head toward the kitchen, the earlier feeling of hysteria gnawing on the edges of his senses. He has some single malt Scotch left in the cabinet above the sink. A couple of ( _dozen_ ) drams worth will calm ( _subdue_ ) his mind down enough that he can attempt to force himself to relax and reorganize. Or at the very least give him a warm buzz. Pity he didn't have anything stronger. He needs to not think.

Before he completed turning his body toward the kitchen, his attention was arrested by a photo that laid nestled within the broken remains of its vintage wooden frame on the floor near his socked feet. A photo of his daughter. Pained grief swelled deep in his chest; tearing open barely healing wounds that will never ever fully close. _Oh, Abby… My girl. My poor baby girl. Mo Stor._

Slowly closing his eyes, Robert grits his teeth against the resurgent sorrow that clawed at his still beating heart. He pressed his left hand over his chest, fingers gripping into the rough knitted wool of his sweater vest, trying in vain to stem the hollow ache. He mentally rescinded his earlier statement. Need to not Think? No, change that to not Feel. Maybe if he can stop feeling--  stop hurting, stop wanting to--

But alas, he knew better than to wish such a thing. As much as he wanted to be bereft of certain emotions, to be free of the guilt, fear, rage, frustration, or sorrow that awaited in the corners of his mind, waiting to chase him in his waking and sleeping hours. To drag him back down into spiraling Depression.

 _Alright Robert, this is not the best time and place to start brooding,_ he mentally snapped at himself. He should know better than to wallow in these emotions for any protracted period of time. He returned his attention to the framed photograph on the floor.

Robert delicately picked up the shattered frame, careful to disallow the desecrated memory of his daughter to be damaged further. Cold anger reared its ugly head at the memory, loosely coiling about his heart.

Pity the Thief had joined the ranks of the recently deceased, he sardonically reflected. Robert now understood that he would have been _unkind_ if he had been able to go further in his interrogation of the intruder. The objective aspect of his mind knew this as a simple fact, he had done so in the past, hence he found no cause of concern in his willingness to what was needed.

However, what is done is done. The objective was missed, he will need to adjust the further parameters accordingly. No matter what he does, or how much he wished; he cannot change reality.

His precious daughter was gone, she is never going to come back. Besides, a dark part of his mind quietly supplied, a part that had been getting more vocal as of late; you can still affect the future, there was still that _Traitor_ to take care of.

Those loose coils of frigid rage stirred restlessly within his chest at the thought.  That Traitor will get his soon enough. _There is perfect opportunity now_. For what he had done to Abigail, he will experience tenfold. _I will_ \- no, stop. Justice ( _vengeance_ ) for Abigail will have to wait. What he desires ( _craves, demands_ ) must be put on hold. Robert has a Urgent High Priority mission to complete beforehand.

Right now, he can still do something for the next _precious_ person in his life, one that is still among the living, Tadashi. Robert needs to find him. Once Tadashi is safe and sound, Robert can then proceed to _gleefully_ burn that HYDRA cell to the ground and then he can focus all his energy on terminating that Traitor. Perhaps both at the same time. That would be… _efficient_.

But first, current priorities, he needs to evacuate ASAP. Gather all necessary items and relevant materials from his home, and fall back to a safe house. Preferably one with a decent technological base and resources. And, lucky him, he knows just the one.

Once satisfied with his next steps, he glanced down with a pained smile at the barely framed photo of his daughter that he still held loosely in his hands. It was a photo of his greatest Joy as a father. His daughter. Graduating from MIT with top honors. It felt that it was just yesterday. Abigail, in her Graduation Cap and Gown, beaming with barely contained pride and accomplishment. Where does the time go?

With great reluctance, Robert finishes the damage done to the frame, tearing off the upper part, allowing him to retrieve the photograph within.

As he slowly pulls out the photograph, a few loosened shards of glass slid down the face of the photo, continuing its decent to the floor. The soft tinkle of the shattered glass echoed loudly in his ears. And for a single fleeting moment Robert was no longer in his apartment. He was back _there_.

Blinking himself back to the present, Robert gives himself a brief shake to clear his head. He then attempts to distract himself by focusing on gathering the remaining photographs and frames littering about the dining room floor. It didn't work.

God damn it. It happened again.

He hasn't had one of his flashes in over a month. _Why now of all times? Must be all the stress_ , Robert mulls irritably. While he deliberated over the cause of his irritation; he continued rummaging over the priceless photographs of family, and dear friends that laid scattered on the floor, carefully gathering them in his hands.

He then sees it. It is a small little thing, laying innocuous among the recently created pile of glass shards on the floor. He reaches over with his free hand, and delicately extracts the device from among the glass shards. Returning to stand fully upright, he scrutinized the device in his palm. Robert immediately recognized what it was, and he felt his paranoia spike to new heights in response to the discovery.

There were times that Robert wished he wasn’t one of the top researchers in his field, privy to the latest developments in both civilian and military technology. Because if he wasn’t, he would have been looking at it in mild confusion, instead of  examining it in intense paranoid aggravation.

_What the bloody fuck is a surveillance BUG doing in my home?!? And, more importantly, how long has it been here!?!_

Robert swiftly accessed the small device, pulling at any bit of information he can recall. It was about the size of his thumb nail, black in color, similar in shape and design to one of those Micro SSD drives commonly used in various electronics. If he was anyone else, he would have just dismissed it as a misplaced flash drive.

But Robert knew better than to make such an assumption, he knew where to look, and given its design it appeared to be a standard surveillance audio recording unit. Last generation in fact, commonly used in reconnaissance and intelligence gathering. Military grade. Someo-- No. Those HYDRA bastards had him under surveillance!

Robert had every right to be furious once the realization had sunk in. So abrupt was the surge of burning anger that accompanied the realization that he had to brace himself against the edge of this dining room table. The photographs that he had gathered slipped from slackened fingers, fluttering back down to the floor.

Of course he was under surveillance! It was a given in any type of Operation that included a target extraction. How can he be so stupid not to think that he was being watched?!

Staring at the device that rested in his still open palm, Robert felt a mild prickle of relief flit across his skin at the fact that it was just a basic recording unit, it (thankfully) did not transmit anything. He would have been in significant trouble if there was anyone actively listening.

Regardless, the device only recorded and stored the audio data, Robert remediated, furthering his assessment. And that meant that the bug --or bugs, there is never just one. He is going to have to do a complete bug sweep now, god damn it-- will have to be collected at some point.

Which means someone would have had to break into, or at least have some kind of access into his apartment to plant and then recover the devices. Like a certain dead lump laying in the middle of his apartment floor. Some loose ends began to tie together.

This wasn’t a robbery.

Audio bug still in hand, Robert pushed himself off the edge of the table, past the newly scattered photographs on the floor; returning to the side of the deceased Thief. He needed to know. To confirm his suspicions.

Against his better judgment, he lowers himself on one knee and methodically finishes searching the cooling body. Emptying the jacket and pants pockets, he recovers several more of the bugs.

Palming the small devices into his pants pockets, Robert sighed with resignation. Damn, he was hoping that this wasn’t the case. But the evidence doesn’t lie. This person was recovering the bugs, under the guise of a robbery. A fairly standard practice, all things considered. Go in, recover the devices, and ransack the place in the meantime. Take a couple of obvious valuables, and the police will just write it off as another robbery. He doesn't know if he should be mildly impressed or mildly insulted, but the implications gave him cause of concern.

A recording only device needed to be remotely activated and subsequently deactivated when required, this was mostly done by a short range operator. The operator would case the target, noting down the targets schedule of comings and goings, and remotely switch on the recording devices when the mark was at home. Which means this Thief could be someone he kno-- knew, correction; someone he knew. At least in passing.

Robert's mouth pressed into a thin line, leaning forward with his forearm braced on his knee. Eyes narrowing as he considered the thought. He finishes with a dismissive shrug of the shoulders. Might as well find out then.

Robert relocates himself sideways. Sliding upwards, stopping once he is adjacent of the corpses' head. A certain scent wafts off the body, more concentrated now.

That citrus smell again, he recalled in irritation. His earlier frustration was still a sore spot with himself, as he was no closer to the answer. Damn it. He still can't identify why the scent was vaguely familiar to him. Robert dismissed the thoughts, pushing them aside. Wasting brainpower on trying to associate a smell is not going the help him at the moment. He will get back to it later, there are more pressing matters to attend to.

_Alright. Let's get this over with._

_No. Don't_. Robert's sense of caution warned, the earlier sense of foreboding returning unwanted to forefront of his senses. _You are going to regret it._

 _Oh the hell I will!_ , Robert bit back in stubborn indignation, reaching for the hem of the mask on the neck. Anger brushing aside the caution with barely any effort. _She had attempted to kill me. I take offense to that! I need to know who this person is now! Damn the consequences!_

Throwing caution to the winds, Robert takes a deep breath and pulls at the mask hem. Carefully rolling the fabric up the neck, the head lolls about in tandem with the movements of his hands.  A curl of unease emerged in his gut at how light the head weighed in his hands, at how little resistance the neck gave at being moved. Robert understood on a clinical level that the feeling of wrongness stemmed from handing a body with a broken neck.

In spite of the feeling, he continues to remove the ski mask-- no, the balaclava head covering; tinted goggles sliding along with the bunched up fabric. Revealing the slack pallid face if his neighbor.

_Ms. Herrin?!_

It hits him, jaw dropping slightly in shock as he rears backwards, that was the scent was from! She wears a sweet citrus perfume all the time. Moved in last semester, just down the hall, near the elevator. Sometimes crosses paths in the building and on campus. Always took the time to greet him. Mentioned that she is-- no, was an Engineering student at SFIT.

Wait, he.... _murdered_ a student. With his bare hands. Shock gives way to visceral sickness, bordering on nausea. _God in heaven, what have I…_

 **No.** Not a student!, Robert countered violently. A student would not be robbing his home, not even three hours from his supposed death. A student would not be carrying a (admittedly well designed) concealed bladed weapon on her bloody forearm if she did not have any intention to use it! She was going to use it. On him! Oh lord above. Has she used it before!?

And more importantly, a student would not be recovering planted audio recording devices in his home in the first place!

Robert felt exasperated that this discovery left far more questions unanswered than what he considered reasonable. _How long has the surveillance been going? What was recorded? When was it recorded? Was there any other recoveries completed prior?_

Robert abruptly stood back onto his feet, and moved further into the living room, where he began to pace. As more questions poured into his head, Roberts mind switched to overdrive. Attempting to cover and review as many possibilities as possible. Looking at every possible angle, every possible variable.

A few stood out among the maelstrom of thoughts.

He could think of a few times that he was not home for any substantial amount of time within the last two months. Particularly during his Special projects. However there was a high probability that these surveillance operations were done during his teaching hours, that was the most consistent pattern he had. Unless he was being watched more closely than he believed. He really wouldn’t put it past those bastards, however the limited evidence implied that the operation focused on his apartment. So there is that, but he still was under surveillance. He did not enjoy the prospect, much less the idea that he was being watched.

And to make matters worse, he still hasn’t gotten any closer to a useful lead, Robert discerned in increasing vexation. He now has more questions that he would rather not have to deal with. Layering on even more stress that is doing absolutely nothing to improve his already poor mood.

Reflecting his frayed mental state, the muscles in his neck and back tensed in restrained smoldering anger; as his pacing began to adopt a heavy, almost predatory stride.

Robert really wanted to break something, or at least punch someone. He wanted-- no, he needed to vent before he did something he would regret even more. Robert preemptively shoved his hands back into his pants pockets, his hands grasping at each pockets contents. His hands clench into tight fists, trembling in barely contained anxiety and rage, ignoring the sting of pain as sharp edges dug into his palms.

It's not like he could go to the Fitness Center and beat up a punching bag until his hands hurt. Or even workout until he is his ready to drop from exhaustion. He is dead.

Pause.

Alright. Acknowledging that statement felt so surreal just now. Let's not think about that further.

Maybe he could bang his head against the wall --the hysterical thought intruded into his conscience, following on the heels of the prior surreal musings-- a bit of pain could give him a bit of distraction or maybe clear his mind. The idea was very tempting at the moment. It's not like he didn’t deserv--

 _Abort that dangerous idea you idiot! This is not the time to entertain such notions. You got a job to do!_ , Robert viciously counteracted the self-destructive thoughts. His pacing resumed, more agitation becoming visible in his gait. Robert's face pulled in a scowl, as he attempted to shove these insidious thoughts back into the corners of his mind. Perhaps, if he has any luck ( _yeah, right_ ), box them in again.

 _Keep it together Robert!_ , he commanded, his mental voice taking a stern tone; trying to persuade himself. _You can do this. You can push on through. Just focus on your objective. You know how to do it, fall back on your training. One step at a time. Follow the steps. Assess. Pla--_

 _No, no I can't_ , Robert admitted brokenly to himself. Stopping his pacing to stare dejectedly out of his apartment living room window.

That's all he has been doing for these past months since Abigail was lost. Following the motions. Just pushing forward. Trying to move on. But, _I can't_ , he admitted to himself. It hurts too much.

_I just want to sleep and not wake up._

It was becoming too exhausting trying to keep a happy face for everyone. Keeping his mask firmly on, so no one will worry, and interrupt their busy lives. To keep that ideal persona that everyone looks up to.

It should have worked. It had worked before. He was able continue his teaching, his purpose; putting all his remaining energy and focus on his work and students, as he was expected to.

Dissecting and compartmentalizing his emotions, as he learned earlier in life, allowing his logic to move him forward in difficult times. Disconnection from the freshly ( _still bleeding, never healing_ ) torn hole in his heart. From the persistent drowning helplessness of knowing he had no recourse for closure, for **_justice_**. From everything.

It should have worked.

Except Tadashi saw right through it.

Robert found his eyes drawn to the right, towards his sofa. Or more to the point, into the reflective metallic yellow eyes of a red and black marked porcelain like mask hanging above his sofa. A treasured gift taking pride of place as the central fixture of his small collection of Japanese cultural art.

The mask's cold golden eyes bore down on Robert in silent scrutiny. It's sharp empty gaze pushing forward a pained sense of both righteous indignation and melancholy; combining into an miasma of malcontent. But not toward himself, - _no, never him_ \- it was on behalf of _another_.

Tadashi.

_Mo Chuisle._

_Why? Why do you have be so selfless? I'm not worth it. Never was. What had possessed you to run into a burning (collapsing) building?! I was never worth your devotion, your empathy, your lo--_

Flinching his face away from the silent judgment of the masks' eyes, he returned gazing out of the window, his heart heavy with sorrow. Mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

 _What if Tadashi died in there?_ Roberts thoughts turned abruptly morbid, cold fear creeping forward. That would have broken him. He realized with agonizing clarity. He simply could not contemplate it. Guilt and self-loathing, with underlying terror; lodged themselves into his mind. Running rampant in violent circles, clawing and snapping at every possible scenario, adding to his building distress.

There were so many things that could have gone horribly wrong. The beam. There was a falling beam. Just a foot more, it would have crushed Tadashi. Or Robert could have escaped the building much earlier, instead of staying to fight. Inadvertently abandoning Tadashi to a collapsing building. He wouldn’t even have known until it was far too late. Another dear one gone.

Because of him.

His fault! It was all his fault. Robert's mind mentally howled. If he wasn't there in the first place--, if he wasn't a part of--, then they wouldn't--

First Abigail.

Now Tadashi.

 _No! Tadashi is still alive_ , Robert desperately countered. _That is important! Captured by the enemy and still alive._

 _Why did they decide to take Tadashi?_ Robert thought with a flicker of confusion, that did not make sense! He was the target of the extraction, not Tadashi. Those HYDRA bastards would have left behind anyone extraneous to the mission. That callousness was all too common knowledge.

Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth, those bastards did get him out of the building.

**Alive.**

Tadashi is alive, Robert tried to reassured himself again. There was no logical reason for them to take Tadashi if he was dead. That means he can be found. It is just a matter of extensive Reconnaissance to uncover his location and mount a recovery operation. You have done that before.

_…Right._

As part of a squad and access to military grade equipment and support. Sure he can do this. No problem. Piece of cake.

Biting sarcasm aside, there was still another angle that worried him greatly. The possibility that Tadashi will be extracted to another location outside the city. If that happens the trail will go cold if he takes too long. Or worse they deem Tadashi extraneous. He is on a deadline.

Emphasis on the word _dead_.

Robert then realized with intense discomfort that he is severely limited in his resources. It is not like he could call in some favors, or help; for all he knows everyone he could possibly consider for aid is compromised.

Unless he contacts--

No. He is _NOT_ going to contact that fat bastard. No. Absolutely not. Not going to happen. Favors like that come with too high a price!

 _You know better Robert._ That unwanted silky dark voice in the back of his mind returned, cutting though the tumult of thoughts and emotions, _kindly_ explained. _He_ , of all people can offer you the help you will need. _He_ has the connections, resources, and more importantly; a citywide information network. _He_ has eyes and ears everywhere in this city.

He was even _kind_ enough to offer help after the Incident. Said he understood the pain you were in. Understood your desire for Justice. All he asked in return was a few _small_ favors, nothing more.

And what did you do? You respectfully declined the offer. Foolish. Selfish. So selfish.

Maybe he should have taken the offer…

No. He promised. He had promised Tadashi that he wouldn't do anything that would hurt himself. After he gave Tadashi that awful fright last month--

_I keep my promises._

Too little too late for that, you know. You promised to protect him, didn’t you? Yet you didn’t. You broke that promise. And you did so, _willingly_.

Such a small thing. That poisonous thought. He should have had a swift rebuttal. He had to escape. He was suffocating. He was going to die. There was no choice. To shut down that slithering self-loathing, before it sunk its venomous fangs into his heart. But he didn’t. It was right. He _broke_ his promise. It did not matter how or why, it did not change anything. He _abandoned_ Tadas--

Then it struck.

Robert couldn't finish the thought, as all the emotions he tried to box in, to keep them under some form of control, shattered free from their confines and slammed onto his mind all at once. All screeching for attention. For absolution.

Congealing into a mass of sheer unbridled aimless terror, a scream lodged itself in his throat, as pain flared across his temples and face. Robert began to hyperventilate, lungs starving for oxygen, as he forgot to breath.

Hands flying from his pockets to grasp at his shirt collar, tearing it open before he choked. His body reacted as if it was struck, doubling over; trying to retch, but he had not eaten since lunch yesterday.

He felt as if he was drowning in the panic. The roar of blood rushing in his ears in synch with the equally intense pounding of his heart. Disparate memories of a swirling gyre of blue-white energy, now laced with an surging inferno of red-orange fire arose unbidden, combining into an all-consuming nightmare. Overtaking his senses in maddening terror.

And the worst of it was not the painful white out of his sight, nor the unbearable hissing white noise that now deafened his hearing. Nor the tears that tracked down his face. It was the sense of hollow despair, of self-revulsion. He hated himself. He hated being so weak.

_I failed. I'm a failure. A monster. I didn't protect those I love. I failed my purpose. I didn’t protect Them. Her. Him._

_My fault._

_My Fault._

_MY FAULT!_

_I̴͢.͘..͏̧ jus̕t̸̶̛…͏_

He was so tired.

Then it just stopped.

There was an abrupt sensation of schism, a strange feeling of turning both inwards and outwards, away from the tumult of emotions and thoughts that threatened to drag him back down into the depressive emptiness. Those sensations now seemed so far away… Indistinct.

Unimportant.

All that remained was the dull ache of smoldering anger that burned as embers in the blessed silence of his mind. The emotion now dominant in all thoughts offered him a clean focus to his goals.

He took it.

Robert then reopened hardened gray-blue eyes that he did not recall closing, releasing a breath that he did not remember holding. He wiped away the wetness of tears he could not remember shedding. Straightening his back, he dispassionately filed away his recent panic attack to the back of his awareness. Neatly boxing it away, as he slowly returned to physical homeostasis.

Time meant nothing now. He did not know how long he stood there, unaware of the external world around him. Blankly staring out of the window, not really seeing or acknowledging anything as real. Silently reorganizing his thoughts, and reestablishing his priorities. Preparing for the next step.

So when he felt the press of arms encircling his throat from behind his back, he responded accordingly.

Robert's head snapped backwards, the back of his skull connecting with his assailants face. In spite of the strike, his assailant's hold did not loosen enough that he could slip out. Robert then immediately changed tactics.

Clasping his hands on the arm around his neck, he used the new found leverage to swing his lower body outwards from under himself. Snapping his legs back, he folded his legs under him, and allowed inertia and gravity to do the rest. The abrupt change in equilibrium forced his assailant to over balance allowing Robert use his body weight to drag his assailant downwards as he slammed back down hard on bent knees.

Pressing his advantage further, Robert shifted both of his hands to fully grasp one of the upper arms of his attacker.

And heaved.

The assailant was pulled over Robert's shoulder and sent flying. Slamming into the window with a shout, and tumbled onto the carpeted floor in a haphazard heap.

Robert rose to his feet, and slid a few steps backwards, back towards the edge if his living room. Giving himself a wide berth between himself and his attacker, he glanced over his shoulders checking for any additional opponents that could have taken advantage of his unguarded back.

Finding none, Robert returned his full attention to his attacker, who was beginning to get back on his feet. _I did not notice this ambush? Why?_ Robert immediately discarded the confusing thought. Not relevant. Focus on the now.

The assailant was dressed as one if the buildings' security guards of all things. And poorly at that. _The colors are off. All wrong._ But still close enough that the casual observer would not notice any major inconsistencies. Like the fact, that the cut of the uniform shirt is all wrong. Robert felt a faint flicker of second hand embarrassment toward such a glaring error. His sense of professionalism on the other hand was fully insulted. A pale _beige_ Polo shirt? Supposed to be a plain _white_ button down.

_Idiot._

Another HYDRA plant then. The Thief's lookout? Poorly done job if that was the case, could not even get the uniform right, Robert blandly assessed.

The Guard picked himself off the floor, in spite of having just been thrown into a window. Disappointing. Robert was reminded of those faceless goons that confronted him not too long ago. Before his life decided to go sideways. The Guard then finished standing fully upright, but with noticeable touch of stiffness. Looks that the Guard was injured after all, Robert's anger preened in dark satisfaction at the knowledge.

The window behind the Guard looked no worse for wear, Robert dully noted. The earlier impact had left a small collection of cracks radiating from point of impact. Weakened, but still holding. He returned his attention to his assailant.

The assailant in question had his eyes firmly locked on Robert, shifting into a loose defensive stance. Accessing Robert's appearance from head to toe with narrowed eyes, a sly smirk forming on his face. Robert decided he wanted to wipe that off the Guards face.

"So, Mr. Callaghan, I see you're are not dead," The false Guard opened with equally false camaraderie. "Not looking too well I see. Quite a surprise, seeing you here. How did you get past us? We had all points of entry under surveillance."

Robert may have wondered that himself once upon a time. If he bothered to care, that is. He filed away the information, nevertheless. Could be useful.

Anger quietly simmered just below the surface of his consciousness, ever present as Robert dispassionately weighed his options. There is an obstacle in front of him threatening the integrity of his mission. This obstacle is to be removed. His body begin to tense, skin prickling in anticipation; preparing for its next move. Robert mutely continued his focus on the guard, as he felt no need to answer the yammering obstacle standing before him.

The Guard kept talking, unaware of the subtle shifts in Robert's demeanor and positioning.

" --fact, my employers will be quite interested to know that you still alive."

Roberts attention piqued at those words. Employers? So, he was right, he was already marked as dead. Good. Now to keep it that way. Keep talking. Don’t notice that your only viable escape route has been cut off.

There were only two ways out of the living room in Robert's apartment. Through the dining area, where Robert is currently holding position. Or through the balcony door that laid situated between the window and his flat screen TV, in the upper right corner of the living room. So, unless the Guard intends to escape through the balcony, Robert has him neatly boxed in. If the Guard takes the balcony, well, it is a rather _long way down_.

"So, why don't we make this easy for you. Surrender and come quietly."

Why do they always ask that redundant question, when they already know what the answer is going the be? A distant part of Robert wondered in mild annoyance. He opted to not roll his eyes. Not worth the energy.

The Guard appeared unconcerned by Robert's answering blank stare. "No answer then?", the Guard inquired, cocksure of his apparent superior position.

The guard then started to reach for something on his belt.

There is a funny thing about hand to hand combat. It's over much faster than what the average person sees in Movies and TV shows. There is no posturing, dramatic circling, or witty banter. In a life or death situation the only thing that matters is to kill your opponent before they can kill you. The longer a fight goes, the more the odds goes against you. Any injuries sustained earlier will slow you down or can exploited as a weak point. Therefore, it is paramount to end it a fast as possible. And use every advantage, trick, tactic, or move you have to do so. Simple.

So it really should not have been surprising to the Guard when Robert's face drained of all color a split second before responding to the implied treat by barreling toward him at full speed. Crossing the short distance between them in less than the span of a breath. Any sound of alarm was choked off as Robert's right hand gripped the Guard around the throat, the left fisting into the Guard's shirt, and proceeded to repeatedly slam him against the already weakened window.

Only his slightly furrowed brow, and narrowed eyes gave the barest hint to Roberts mental state. He made no sound, or showed any difference in facial expressions. Keeping a near dispassionate facade. Even when he finished the Guard with a kick to the chest, catapulting the man straight through the window in a shower of broken glass.

Robert blandly looked over the edge of his now shattered window, curtains billowing outwards into the cool night air. Marginally acknowledging the twenty story drop from his apartment floor, Robert deemed that the current parameter has been fulfilled.

_Obstacle removed._

He considered that the body is possibly going to attract unwanted attention. _Very low chance_ , Robert thought to himself. It is well past midnight. The window is on the backside of the building complex. The recreation area below is closed to the residents past 11pm. There should be no--

A high pitched scream echoed upwards from the ground floor below. Quickly joined by distant shouts and yells.

_Sigh._

Never mind. It attracted the unwanted attention. Time to go. Robert turns away from the shattered window. Pausing as his foot hits something, he picks it up from the floor amid the shattered glass.

The guard had intended to call for backup, judging from the small device he now held in his hand. Robert had to consider that he might have been too late in his interruption. He has then, at most, five minutes to grab as much as possible and evacuate. Before the ex-guards' team converge on his position, if they have not already.

Dismissively tossing the device over his shoulder, he exited the living room. Passing a certain lump, Robert considers removing the body --perhaps out the window?--, he decides against it. As much as Robert wanted to clear his home of such filth, he is on a limited timeframe here.

Robert then proceeded to sprint past his dining room, appropriating one of the chairs as he did so. Continuing past the kitchen, he shoved the chair under the doorknob of his apartment entrance. Bracing it against any further attempts of intrusion. And re-locks his door for good measure, including the chain latch.

He has given himself, perhaps, few additional  minutes to work with. He now has, at best, a seven minute timeframe. He had worked with less before.

Returning to the hallway entrance, Robert took a brief moment to look about his living room. Taking in the several recently fallen pieces of decorations' that once adorned the wall over his sofa. Interesting enough, the mask was the only piece that still remained on the wall. Vibrant gold eyes a silent observer of recent events.

 _Excessive_ , Robert concluded, taking in the shattered window into consideration. Used more force then realized. No matter. It is done. Turning back down the hallway, he quickly returned to his bedroom.

Once past the bedroom door, Robert flicked the light overhead lights on and was greeted by the sight of inert microbots. _Oh._ He had actually forgotten about them. Strange. He considered the two black mounds at his sides, framing a path to the foot of his bed, blocking him off from any other direction. Since he had zero interest in wadding though a pile of bots that was tall enough to reach his waist. He climbed up and over his bed to bypass the blockages so he get to his closet.

As he set himself before the closet, Robert found himself taking pause, his attention locking onto the mirrored sliding doors of said closet. At the person in the glass

He did not recognize this person.

He knew on a basic level that he was looking at a mirror. Therefore this person was his… reflection. _Right?_ He felt confusion of what he was seeing. It didn’t seem…

Real.

The colors were-- all wrong, too sharp, too vibrant. But at the same time dull and indistinct. Reminiscent to the image on a television screen with its brightness at maximum setting, and the hue settings at its lowest.

It takes several long moments to acknowledge himself in the mirror. Shifting through enough of the fuzzy indistinctions in his skewed perception to remember his own appearance with any consistency.

Recognition clicks.

And first thing Robert does is level an unimpressed flat stare at his own reflection.

God, he looks like absolute _shite_. His clothes were in complete disarray. The light rose taupe plaid dress shirt collar torn open, with the lower left half of the shirt dangling outside of the waistband of this belted dark tan slacks. His deep, maroon-colored tie pulled askew, but somehow still tucked behind his sweater vest. Itself contrasting against his beige cable knit sweater vest that showed evidence of damage with smears of smoke ash and black soot.

Gray silver hair equally disheveled, discolored in the same streaks of ash and soot contrasting with his flushed face and discolored skin. Eyes puffy and red veined. Pupils blown wide leaving the sharp gray-blue of his eyes a thin ring surrounding the black.

His posture was an absolute disaster, shoulders slouched forward, himself wavering from side to side, as if he was losing his balance. Was he favoring his right side? He looked like he came out of a warzone. Technically he did. Little wonder that idiot guard did not take him seriously. He looked as if he was going to faint at any moment.

Probably still could, he was beginning to feel it. The first inklings of the creeping fuzziness of exhaustion had begun to edge onto is consciousness. Even his ever present Anger was beginning lose steam in the face of the impending fatigue. He needs to hurry, Robert decided. Fall back to the safe house, before his body gives into the inevitable, and actually does pass out.

Opening his closet, Robert immediately grabbed his emergency bag from the corner. _Always worth it to be prepared._ Although this was not quite the circumstance he had in mind when he originally put the kit together. _Oh well_. Tossing the old military canvas duffel onto the bed behind him, he knelt on the carpeted floor to access the safe embedded in the wooden inner floor of his closet.

After he opened the safe, Robert gathered the various envelopes and the lock box contained within. With the items in his arms, he stood up, and turned to the duffel on his bed. Stuffing them into the duffel, he mentally tallied up all the additional things that he will need to take now. Got his duffel, and the safes' contents are packed in. He needs to grab his medication from the bathroom, the ( **priceless** ) mementos from the dining room and living room, his laptop --definitely will need that--, his wor--

Shit. This just became more complicated than it needs to be, he realized with a displeased frown evident on his face. Robert stole a glance at the cracked face of his wristwatch. **1:41 AM**. He doesn't--

Wait.

Confusion staggered across his thoughts. _That long? That doesn't add up. It should be less... Removing that stupid guard didn't take— And the Thief-- What was I doing for over--?!?_

 ** _Stop_**. He can think about that later. There is no time. Robert cannot afford to waste what little energy he still has. **_FOCUS on the Immediate problem!_**

He must take his workstation from his home office. Or at least the multiple SSD drives. And the motherboards. And the RAID. Can't take the devices as is, the desktop towers and the RAID rack themselves could be bugged. There is no time to clear them for bugs. Can't risk it. There is no possible way in the iron ringed hells he is going leave all that data behind for those bastards to get their slimy tentacles all over them. Failsafe or no failsafe.

No time, no choice. He is going to have to Nuke his whole system. He can set the program off in roughly thirty seconds. After a few minutes the data will be wiped to the point that recovery will be next to impossible. Does he have time to at least do an basic Image back up his main research? Rapidly running the numbers the answer was a resounding No. No time to even safely remove the drives from their mounts. Full Nuke it is then. He really did not enjoy the prospect of the loss of all that work…

Then another logistical problem reared its unwanted head. _How am I going to leave? What is my point of egression?_ , Robert asked himself. The only point that immediately came to mind was the front door of his apartment, and that would also be their point of ingression. He would walk right into an ambush. He--

Did he just hear someone try to open his front door?

Damn it. Time's up.

Swinging the duffel over his shoulder and onto his back, Robert spied the answer to his immediate problem nested in crumpled soot stained sheets.

 _Of course, the neural cranial transmitter_ , Robert thought. Lowering his duffel to the rest on the carpeted floor, he picked up the device in his hands. He felt a bit sheepish at the fact he did not remotely think of the transmitter when he saw the inert Microbots earlier. Must be the exhaustion, he never could think straight when that happens. As if to emphasized the point, Robert felt his vision begin to swim, everything beginning to grow fuzzy at the edges of his sight. He needs to sleep.

Robert  gave his head a fierce shake in response, an attempt to push back the urge to just lie back down on the bed. _Later_. He takes a deep cleansing breath, biting down the yawn that was creeping up his throat. He can sleep later.

In the meantime, he can use the Microbots. Robert looked down at the transmitter held in his hand. Lifting the device eye level to re-examine the damaged sensor, he reviewed his options.

He was able to hold his own against the HYDRA team fairly well with them. Even with his sloppy handling of the interface system, he got the basic understanding quick enough to matter. With time to further familiarize himself with the neuro cranial interface, some training and additional experience; he should be able to deal with anything that can get thrown at him. And once he can build up the Microbots to a sizeable mass, it should cover most, if not all variables. Robert now has the answer to _all_ of his _problems_ in his hand. A small smile forms across his tired face.

Besides, didn't Hiro say they can _do anything_?

Robert places the transmitter back onto his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, finally done with this Chapter! Man, this was a trial to write, but now we can put Robert on hold from his nervous breakdown and move on to other POV's. Hopefully, Robert will have someone to talk to soon, he is gonna need it.
> 
> Something we found in a majority of fanworks is that most neglect the canon fact that Robert was mentally unsound for the majority of the movie. Baymax diagnosed him with Acute Stress Disorder and Emotional Instability. Acute Stress Disorder (or ASD) is an anxiety disorder characterized by a cluster of dissociative and anxiety symptoms that occur within a month of a traumatic stressor. ASD, like PTSD, begins with exposure to an extremely traumatic, horrifying, or terrifying event. Unlike PTSD, however, ASD emerges sooner and abates more quickly; it is also marked by more dissociative symptoms. If left untreated, however, ASD is likely to progress to PTSD. 
> 
> But what was the event? Not Abigails "death", Robert was already back teaching and was able to candidly talk about her. This implies that he was on track for recovery from that trauma. No, we think that the traumatic stressor for the ADS was Tadashi's death. Robert never intended to harm anyone during his faked death. Remember the fire happened AFTER the Expo was over, people were already leaving. We also believe he had help in that endeavor, a distinct possibility considering the original movie plot ideas for Yokai. Regardless, the fire happens, he fakes his death, grabs the Microbots as a crime of opportunity, goes to his bolthole and turns on the TV....
> 
> And all his progress on the original recovery goes right out the proverbial window and back to square one in full ADS with a new traumatic stressor on top of the earlier one. And he has access to prototype technology programmed to be efficient and controlled by his mind. Not a good combo.
> 
> Irish Translations thanks to www.irishcentral.com
> 
> Go ndéana an diabhal dréimire de cnámh do dhroma ag piocadh úll i ngairdín Ifrinn - May the devil make a ladder of your back bones while picking apples in the garden of hell!
> 
> Mo chuisle (uh KHUSH-leh): My Pulse
> 
> Mo stór (uh stohr): My treasure.” Can be used in an affectionate friendship or as a term of endearment to a child.
> 
> Tech Terms:
> 
> SSD - A solid-state drive (SSD, also known as a solid-state disk) is a storage device that uses integrated circuit assemblies as memory to store data persistently.
> 
> RAID - (originally redundant array of inexpensive disks, now commonly redundant array of independent disks) is a data storage virtualization technology that combines multiple physical disk drive components into a single logical unit for the purposes of data redundancy, performance improvement, or both.
> 
>  
> 
> Comments, Questions, and Criticisms welcome!


	4. Mourning Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And a new Day dawns...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short newspaper clippings chapter while we continue working on the next chapter. Happy Holidays/New Years!!!

I've learned that people will forget what you said,  
people will forget what you did,  
but people will never forget how you made them feel.  
\- Maya Angelou

**********

**The following are several clippings from the Sunday Morning Edition of the San Fransokyo Tribune** **.**

 

  **SFIT Blast Kills Two**

An explosion yesterday at the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology claimed the lives of Professor

Robert Callaghan and Fourth year Student Tadashi Hamada. Both men had attended the annual SFIT Showcase at the University where there were hundreds in attendance.

Several eyewitnesses reported that most of the attendees had departed the showcase hall when a fire broke out in the presentation area following an explosion. Several SFIT personnel and students had attempted extinguish the fire, but it spread too quickly. After evacuation of the building and they were treated for smoke-inhalation by arriving emergency personnel and released afterwards.

Bystanders reported that Tadashi Hamada ran into the burning building when he was told by an evacuating attendee that Professor Callaghan was still inside the Showcase hall. Shortly after Hamada entered the building a loud explosion shook the grounds.

Two bodies were recovered from the remains of the fire, and have been positively identified by the South San Fransyokyo Medical Center as the late Professor and Student. The cause of the fire remains unknown and is considered suspicious. It is currently under investigation by the San Fransokyo Fire Department and Police Department.

Alistair Krel, founder and CEO of Krei Industries; sponsor of the SFIT Showcase could not be reached for comment.

 

 

**Robert Callaghan, Pioneer of Robotics Technology, Dies at age 52**

Robert Oliver Callaghan, a trailblazer in the design and programming in the vast field of Robotics technology, died Saturday evening in the annual San Fransokyo Institute of Technology Showcase Fire. He was 52.

Dr. Callaghan was born in Boston, Massachusetts, to parents of Irish descent. Where he attended local public school to become the epitome of a generation of computer pioneers who combined intellectual brilliance, and experimental vigor to fuel the early growth of the robotics industry.

As a young computer student at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, he played a crucial role in the development of the programming languages that influenced robotics programming design for years to come.

Dr. Callaghan also formulated what later became known as Callaghan's Laws of Robotics, which is used in the development of specialized programming languages and compression systems in the field of computer and engineering sciences. Streamlining computing code for maximum improvement in processing speed and power; allowing the usage of minimal processors, and supporting hardware.

After earning his Degree in Computer Sciences from MIT; Dr. Callaghan joined the Army. Where he continued his education in Computer Programming, specializing in Robotics technology. During his service he developed various technological advancements, including Magnetic Bearing Servos, used in various Engineering applications today. Dr. Callaghan also co-developed the Callaghan-Catmull Spline, still used in statistical analysis programming in both the private and public sectors. Dr. Callaghan earned his Masters' degree at MIT in Robotics Engineering toward the end of his active service in the Army.

He married Sara Takeuchi, and later welcomed his daughter; Abigail Takeuchi Callaghan into the world. He then later returned to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to complete his Doctorate in Robotics Engineering and Artificial Intelligence.

Following the loss of his wife, Dr. Callaghan accepted a teaching position at the prestigious San Fransokyo Institute of Technology. Continuing his pioneering research in Artificial Intelligence programming and further pushing the boundaries of Robotics technology, as the Head Professor of the Ito Ishioka Robotics Lab.

Dr. Robert Callaghan had recently suffered the loss of his daughter Abigail Takeuchi Callaghan in a piloting accident earlier this year.

Dr. Callaghan is survived by two Sisters, Rachel Bronagh Callaghan and Christine Saoirse Callaghan.

 

**Tadashi Hamada, Senior at SFIT, Dies at age 23**

Tadashi Hamada, native of San Fransokyo; student at the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology's Ito Ishioka Robotics Lab, died Saturday evening in the annual San Fransokyo Institute of Technology Showcase Fire. He was 23.

The eldest brother of two, Tadashi Hamada was born to parents of Japanese and British decent. After surviving a car accident which claimed the lives of his parents, both brothers were taken in by his Aunt and moved back to San Fransokyo. Tadashi Hamada gained early success in various athletic and science programs. Liked to surf and played volleyball in the local teams. He was known to volunteer at the local Red Cross.

Accepted to San Fransokyo Institute of Technology on scholarship, his dedication fast tracked him into the Advanced Robotics program at the Ito Ishioka Robotics Lab. His unique focus on medical and safety applications in Robotics earned the attention of the Head Professor of the Robotics program, world renowned robotics researcher Dr. Robert Callaghan. Who then took the promising student as a protégé, and was often seen working together in the research labs.

Tadashi Hamada is survived by his Aunt, Cassidy Hamada, and his brother, Hiro Hamada.

 

**Late SFIT Professor Home Ransacked**

San Fransokyo police are investigating an home invasion robbery that happened early Sunday morning at the residence of the late Professor Robert Callaghan. According to a police crime summary, the robbery occurred around 12:45 a.m. Police said two men forced their way into the apartment and ransacked the place. Police did not say if anyone was injured, or what was stolen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Questions, and Criticisms welcome!
> 
> Update 6/20/17 - First of all, I want to apologize for the retarded delay of Chapter 5. Time/General Life has not been kind to myself and my ability write more than a few sentences a day between assignments at work is not helping matters. But still there is some progress, so there is that. Currently I'm about 3/4th through my final rewrite so hopefully I'll be done eventually. So again thank you for you patience.


End file.
